


Whatever It Takes

by kkwide



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2019-08-29 10:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 128,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16742143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkwide/pseuds/kkwide
Summary: A brave Slytherin and two careless Gryffindors result an aberration in Time, changing the future that was written.This is a story of two young men. A Death Eater, who eventually turned his back on his master. A young boy, who has done more than enough, but who is still kept in the dark in order to protect him. This is a story of friendship and the unknown in a time of war.





	1. Eye of the Needle

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe and no money is being made from this story.
> 
> A/N: Another Time-Travel story! This is something that was developing in my head as I wrote A Good Life, and I wanted to share it with you! Or, well, at least the beginning of it. The main pairing in this story is Regulus/Harry, but it will be a sloooow burn. There will be other (side) pairings as well as the story progresses. 
> 
> I have no idea if I'm able to keep weekly (or even biweekly) updates, but I'll try. I decided to keep the chapters shorter in this story, since it will be a lot easier to review them before posting. This is a multi-chapter story, but how long, well, I guess time will tell :)
> 
> The story follow's the books somewhat closely so any dialogue you might recognise (included sporadically in some of the chapters), is from there!
> 
> Can't wait to hear what you think of this one :) So please, review!

**Chapter 1: Eye of the Needle**

**The Cave by the sea, July 31st 1979**

I should start by acknowledging that I'm not in my best shape at the moment. Mentally or physically. I mean, suffering the effects of a torturous poison and facing an army of dead corpses might have something to do with that. I'm currently lying on the ground, face against the cold stone and struggling to move. I don't feel anything, except when I try to move. Then it hurts like buggery. I now realise that perhaps I should've sent Kreacher to get some help, instead of ordering him to go straight back to Grimmauld Place, but, well…who would help me? A Death Eater? None of the Dark Lord's followers, I'm sure, considering that I'm currently betraying him. My parents might, but then we'd eventually all have targets on our backs. No, I'm better off alone. I always have been.

I only joined the Dark Lord's cause and his forces because of my family. It was expected of me, as the heir to our House. Yes, I might have shared some of their beliefs at first, but not so much anymore. It was more about not wanting to disappoint my parents. You know how it goes, I'm sure. I have an older brother, Sirius, who was lucky to get away from us. From all of this. I didn't always think like this, in fact I kind of loathed my brother for befriending Blood traitors, Muggleborns and Half-breeds, how he preferred their company over our family. It is somewhat amusing how the mind works, how one's beliefs and opinions change in certain circumstances. A turning point for me was after the Dark Lord had requested an Elf. Of course, I more than eagerly informed him that Kreacher, my Elf, could help him with anything and everything he demanded.

So…That was quite the misjudgement on my part. One I still regret of making. Because of me, Kreacher ended up suffering. Because of me, its trust in wizards and witches has wavered. But, due to the whole incident, I learned something about the Dark Lord. I learned his secret. He hasn't been very subtle about it, let me tell you. Boasting about his invincibleness, mentioning that he has performed such kinds of magic we lesser beings can only dream about…Someone was bound to find out.

Sure, I myself have played with the thought. What would it feel like to be immortal? I guess I'll never find out. I hiss out a moan as I turn on my back and slowly stand up, my body shuddering from pain and exhaustion.

I'm in the middle of an island, the hiding place of his secret. I turn around, and they are everywhere, the dead corpses. Surfacing from the lake, crawling up the sharp rocks, towards me. I'm surrounded. This isn't exactly the way I pictured myself dying. I mean, this has to be counted as some sort of brainless Gryffindor bravery, right? But…is it, if no one will know? Well, except the Dark Lord, if he decides to visit his creepy little lair.

I left him a note, you see. Promising to destroy him and his little secret. A bit on the complacent side, if you ask me, but…well, that is how I am. My only hope is that Kreacher will be able to destroy the Horcrux so that the Dark Lord will finally face his demise.

I take in a deep breath and stand tall. Perhaps this way I might be able to salvage at least a tiny bit of my family's honour, to make our House noble again. Perhaps with my sacrifice – I chuckle to my thoughts – I can change the future.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, July 31st 1995**

I'm heading towards the library, where I suspect Hermione is in a middle of engulfing one of the large and stained tomes from Sirius's family's collection. It is my fifteenth birthday and everyone else is still in the kitchen, eating cake and discussing my hearing, which is going to take place in a couple of weeks. We've gone it through several times already, and it seems like I cannot even enjoy the wonderful chocolate cake Molly Weasley has baked without hearing about the lousy topic. I swear if I have to listen one of them reassure me one more time, I might just combust.

To explain my situation a bit, I was attacked by Dementors two days ago, and immediately afterwards the Ministry decided to suspend me from Hogwarts and destroy my wand because I had performed a Patronus charm in front of my cousin, Dudley, evidently saving us from the horrible creatures. But no, no one seems to take an interest in that small detail. No one in the Ministry, that is. Only because Dumbledore had apparently swooped in and managed to lessen the verdict I was permitted to keep my wand and get a hearing instead. After that, the Order – which I've recently learned is a secret society, founded by Dumbledore during the first war – decided to pull me out from the Dursleys and bring me to their Headquarters. 

Even though I couldn't have been happier to leave the Dursleys, I can't help but feel a bit…let down. I've been in Surrey the whole summer – near starvation, might I add – and no one thought it would be necessary to let me know anything. Every letter I received, from Hermione, from Ron, from Sirius – they all said the same thing; be careful and don't do anything rash. I reckon the Order probably wouldn't even have picked me up if I hadn't run into the bloody Dementors.

After I came here to the Order's Headquartes, which is surprisingly my godfather's childhood home, Grimmauld Place, Ron and Hermione said that they wanted to tell me everything in their letters, but they couldn't. Apparently Dumbledore had made them swear not to tell me anything. Why, I wonder? Why doesn't Dumbledore trust me? Haven't I proven myself enough during the past years?

It is unfair that the others can enjoy a party, the rest of their summer, and plan the next school-year. I don't want to hear a word about Hogwarts, the one place I have called home. Because now I might lose it. I'm anxious about the hearing, about Dumbledore, about everything, and there's nothing I can do about anything.

I spot one of my best friends curled in an armchair near the fireplace, a dusty and ancient looking book tucked on her lap. "Hey, Mione…Couldn't handle another round of cake?" I ask as I plop down next to her on the sofa.

Hermione grunts absently and marks the page before she looks up from the timeworn book and studies my features. Her eyes sweep over my messy, tangled, jet black hair. She's evidently restraining herself from running her fingers through it in order to make it smoother. A sympathetic smile lifts her lips as she gazes into my eyes.

"Well, you know how I think about speculating. So I decided to come here instead and take a look at the books if I could find something useful for the hearing," she says with a small shrug.

Did I say that I really, like, love her? No, not like that. Like friendship. She's my best friend.

She has these brilliant, brown eyes that shine with compassion and earnestness. Okay, she can be a right authoritarian bitch when she wants to, but usually that kind of behaviour is directed towards Ron. Almost always. I'm suspecting there's more to them than just their clashing personalities. I guess time will tell.

She nudges her head towards a stack of books on the small table next to us. "Most of them contain at least some bits of information regarding underage magic and wizarding trials," She says and frowns slightly as she glances at the book on her lap. "Didn't exactly find anything useful in here, and I'm actually quite astonished that something like this can be found from the Order's Headquarters, as some of the topics are rather…atrocious," she says dryly, tucking her legs under her.

I smile at her. She's always been like that. A bookworm. While I'm not as studious as Hermione, I'm still grateful that she is. Her craving for knowledge has saved us more than once or twice in some tricky situations in our past.

"Oh? What's it about?" I ask, only mildly interested, and she knows, but I'm still asking because I'm a good friend.

She clears her throat. "It's something about ancient rituals and descriptions about how to fulfil one's destiny and regain honour. Along with a bunch of rubbish regarding pureness and glory. Undoubtedly relating to the pureness of one's _blood_ …" She concludes bitterly.

Hermione's a Muggleborn witch, and while that doesn't bother me at all – since, hell, I didn't even know I was a wizard until Hagrid came barging into that shack and told me – some people are bothered. Bloodpurists, we call them. I think she is even more in the spotlight than the other Muggleborns, because of me… _The Boy Who Lived_. I groan inwardly. It sounds so bloody stupid. Whoever invented that, has to be banging his head right now. So, as I was saying, Hermione has enemies. In school, it's a lot tamer, since Dumbledore runs the school and doesn't approve bullying. Although, that doesn't stop Malfoy and his stupid Slytherin cronies from trying.

"Well, I'm not surprised after Sirius told me about his family. Did you know they were loyal supporters of Voldemort?" I ask grimly. "Sirius mentioned his brother was a Death Eater…" I mutter, my thoughts lingering on earlier that day, when Sirius showed me the tapestry of House Black, and told me bits and pieces about his depraved family.

"Oh? No, I didn't know, but I assumed as much…" Hermione says, her voice trailing off as she returns back to her book. "Listen to this," she says after a short silence, an incredulous look taking over her face. "' _By sacrifice will it be provoked, by our words will it be fulfilled.'_ She recites from the book. "These people are deranged…Sacrificing the 'impure' to earn honour…" She mutters and turns a page.

I hum in agreement. " _Toujours_ _Pur_ ," I say quietly. Hermione turns towards me with a quizzical brow.

"Oh, just something Sirius said to me. The family motto, apparently…" I explain, feeling quite a bit disoriented.

Hermione nods slowly. There's a short silence, during which she sets the book on top of a small pile on the table, which I assume are the discarded books.

"I should go…Ron's probably wondering where I am…I promised to help him with his summer homework," She says and brushes her jeans lightly to remove the dust that came from the books.

I arch a brow at her. "So…Are you an item now?"

"W-What? No. I mean, no?" Hermione stammers.

Oh, this is too good. I laugh and sprawl over the sofa as she stands up, blushing furiously and scowling at me.

"Okay then." I say innocently and try to school my expression, although she sees the knowing look in my eyes.

"Good night, Harry." She says tightly and walks towards the library door.

"Night, Mione," I reply and let out a small snort when the door closes with a bang.

They are both quite obvious, Ron and Hermione. But as I said, time will tell. I sigh and lie against the small pillow that is nestled in the end of the sofa.

I must have dozed off for some time, since I wake up with a jolt. It's dark, clearly late, and everyone else is probably already sleeping as the house seems to be eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

I stand up and slowly pull my wand from the back pocket of my jeans. Something's not right, and I can feel it in my bones. I blink in the dark, vast room, and try to gauge the situation. I feel like someone else is here as well.

My heart is pounding in my ears as I hear a shuffling sound behind me. I turn swiftly, my wand at the ready.

A man is standing there, in a very dishevelled state. His face and neck sports several cuts and bruises, and I'm quite sure he's dripping water as well. His arms are crossed, a look of bewilderment edged on his face.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Potter?" he says, and I gape at him.

He knows who I am, but I have no bloody idea who he is.


	2. Out of Focus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this was supposed to be a short chapter and I was going to post this on the weekend, buuut...there you are!
> 
> Reviews make me more than happy :)

**Chapter 2: Out of Focus**

**Grimmauld Place, August 1st 1995**

I'm still groggy from the poison I washed down, my body aches and the room spins, but I'm rather certain that I've somehow apparated into my home. Into the library. It's either that or I'm dead. And I really hope I'm not dead because then I'd have to assume this to be my heaven. I mean, I like the place but…This is not really something I imagined spending my eternal life in. Even I'm not that much of a swot.

It's dark, and I try to focus on my breathing. The pain is slowly ebbing away, and it feels like I've drunk a healing potion, but I know I haven't. What in the name of sweet fucking Salazar is going on? Am I really dead? No, I don't feel like it. I don't feel like dreaming either. Everything's too detailed, the room, the smells.

I hear a small groan from the sofa in front of the fireplace. Someone's here. Is it father? Mother never comes in here. Perhaps it is father – which is odd, because it is the middle of the night. I approach him slowly. He stands up and I realise the man is not my father. It is someone I thought I would  _never_  see in Grimmauld Place.

James fucking Potter.

I could recognise him a mile away. Sirius's best friend. They were sort of…attached to one another in school, and I reckon afterwards as well. If Potter hadn't been with the Muggleborn, and Sirius with a different girl every other week, I would've thought they were together. You know. As lovers.

Potter pulls out his wand, and I regrettably notice that my wand is missing. I must've left it in the cave. He suddenly turns around and stares at me in shock.

I look back in utter bewilderment, because I can't comprehend what the hell he is doing in my house, never mind sleeping here.

"What the fuck are you doing in here, Potter?" I say, and he gapes back at me.

A couple of seconds pass. Then he seems to remember that he has a wand, so he points it at me as he speaks. "Who are you? How did you get here?" He asks with a demanding voice, although I can detect a hint of dread in it.

 _What the_ …?

"What the hell are you playing at? What are  _you_  doing in here? You must be out of your fucking mind, Potter. Did Sirius put you up to this? Is he here?" I ask, or, well, hiss at him, and he slowly walks towards me, his eyes running over my face.

"You know who I am?" He asks suspiciously, the determined look in his eyes faltering slightly. "Who are you? You look…familiar. What happened to you?" He warily asks as he takes in my evidently rumpled appearance.

I roll my eyes. "I don't have time for this. Kreacher!" I snap and call for my Elf.

Potter's eyes widen when hearing my words and he lets out a strangled voice as Kreacher pops in front of me.

"Master Regulus!" The Elf squeals, its eyes filling with tears. My annoyance dissipates slightly. Kreacher has probably been beside itself with worry, since, well…we both thought I was going to die, after all. I give my Elf a pat on the head and I observe Potter as he nearly chokes in his own saliva while looking extremely alarmed.

"R-Regulus?" Potter whispers in horror.

Okay, now I'm intrigued.  _He_  is horrified to see  _me_? In the place I live? What in the name of Salazar is going on?

"Yes?" I drawl.

He splutters. Again.

I turn to my Elf. "Kreacher. Would you kindly escort Mr. Potter to his own house?" I ask tightly, narrowing my eyes at the stupid boy in front of me. Boy…He sure does look a bit younger than I remembered.

"No. Kreacher, do not move me anywhere!" Potter commands as the Elf takes a step towards him, and I almost snort. As if Kreacher would listen to anyone else than me. The confident feeling I have disappears when Kreacher hesitates. What the hell?

"Kreacher. I order you to get Sirius. Now." Potter says to my Elf with a tight voice. Kreacher glances at me unsurely.

I stare at the situation in utter bafflement. Then I roll my eyes. "Whatever." I say and nod at Kreacher, who disapparates. They have probably blackmailed the poor Elf to obey them. "You're both going to regret this when mother finds out." I say to Potter, because it's the truth. Sirius ran from home a couple of years ago and was blasted from the family tree right after my mother told me that she'll strangle him if he dares to take a step into our home again.

Potter swallows with unease, a deep frown between his brows. Well, he's right to fear my dear mother. She can be quite the hag sometimes.

"I'm…Y-You think I'm James?" Potter asks with confusion, his wand hand shaking a bit.

I give him an incredulous look. "Um. Yes." I say slowly, as if I'm speaking to a child. Which he very much resembles. "Why do you look so…young? Did you take something?" I ask with irritation.

Potter lifts his brows and looks shocked. "No…I'm…I'm his son."

What the fuck?

"I'm sorry,  _what_?" I ask disbelievingly, even though I heard him the first time. I just need him to utter it again to be sure I heard him say such fucked up things.

"I'm Harry. James's son." He repeats, and steadies his wand hand, the end of it trained at me. I give it an assessing glance before turning my narrowed gaze back to him. The look in his eyes seems genuine enough, and now that I think about it, his behaviour seems to be lacking the overly confident trait Potter certainly masters…but how can that be? If my brother and his friend are not taking the piss, and the bloke in my library really isn't James Potter, then something has seriously gone wrong.

"Now, answer to me! How did you get in here?" He continues, evidently trying to reach more authoritative voice.

What a prat. I arch a brow at him. "I'm a Black. I live here." I say with a hint of a sneer.

Potter – 'Harry' – rolls his eyes and mutters something about my brother under his breath. "No you don't. Not anymore." He says, slightly hesitantly, and I stare at him in puzzlement.

"Yes. I do." I argue. He shakes his head in frustration.

"Where is Sirius…" He mutters, almost helplessly, and as if summoned, the door opens.

I turn towards it, and stare at the man standing in the doorway. He distantly resembles my brother, but is it really him? Someone care to tell me what the fuck is happening in here?

"Reggie…?" The man mumbles, staring at me in a sleep deprived shock. I'm fairly certain he's my brother, but Merlin, what has happened to him? Potter and him – they must have been taking some potions or something like that.

"W-What the hell is happening in here?" He says, his eyes darting over Potter, the library, ending at me.

"Yes, thank you!" I say, nodding with agreement. "I came here minutes ago, and found that on the sofa," I say and jerk my head towards Potter. "Then he has the nerve to sass at me, in my own home, might I add. You do realise what will happen if mother finds out that you're here, brother?" I snappishly ask, and study his appearance more closely. He's wearing pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. "What the fuck are you wearing? Do you walk like that in public?" I ask with disbelief and give him a look of distaste. He looks so dishevelled I want to look away. Years of education regarding pureblood manners have apparently been washed down the toilet during his short stay at the Potters. I squint at him. He looks old. What the hell are they playing at?

"Reggie?" Sirius repeats, walking slowly towards me. He's staring at me in shock. "Is it really you? How is this happening?"

I frown. "Of course it's me." I bite back and glance around. "Look. You two ought to leave. Now." I say firmly. I'm in a desperate need of a long, relaxing sleep and handful of potions to make me feel better. "Mother and father will kill you if they find you here, brother. Same goes to your friend." I hiss at Sirius, and I'm not exaggerating. My parents can be a bit…deranged.

Sirius's eyes widen. "M-Mother and father…" He stammers. "Reggie…I thought you were dead." He says slowly, confusion thick in his voice.

 _What_? I'm beginning to feel a bit frustrated with the situation. I sneer at him. "As you can see, I'm  _quite_  alive."

Potter coughs awkwardly. I send him a glare.

"Should I get someone?" Potter asks unsurely, eyeing my brother hesitantly.

I stare at my brother in confusion. "One of you better explain to me what the hell is going on. Now." I say with a low voice. I'm pissed off now. "Where are our parents, Sirius?"

"You're alive?" Sirius breathes, gaping at me.

"In the flesh," I say dryly. In addition to the frustration and irritation, I'm beginning to feel slightly alarmed. Why did my brother believe I'm dead?

"You're alive." Sirius mutters and walks to me, taking me by surprise as he crushes me into a brotherly embrace. Well…This is certainly  _not_  what I expected.

I wrench myself away from him. "What is going on? Why do you look so…old? And what was he mumbling about being James Potter's son?" I ask and glance at Potter.

Sirius lets out a huff. "I don't look  _that_  old," he mutters sullenly. "And this is Harry. You…you don't know what happened to James and Lily? …Or mother and father?" He asks with a deep frown.

I lift my brows in bewilderment. "What do you mean? Where are mother and father, Sirius?" I ask with dread. Has something happened to them? Has my brother done something?

My brother grimaces. "Reggie…They're…they're dead," he says slowly, looking very uncomfortable. "They died somewhere in the mid-eighties or something like that," he says with a deep sigh and rubs his neck. "Wasn't exactly around to witness that, unfortunately." He mutters the last part, and I can feel my face pale. I feel nauseous, and I suddenly have trouble breathing.

"W-What? They're w-what, Sirius?" I rasp in shock, and it feels like someone is pressing my windpipe, like the blood in my veins has turned ice cold. Mother and father are…are dead? How is that even possible? I realise that he has said something else as well. "Mid-eighties?" I mumble. "But…I-I'm…" I stammer, and my cool and composed demeanour has vanished, the walls guarding my mind crumbled down in mere seconds. This is something I definitely hadn't anticipated.

"You died before them." Sirius says, seeming to be quite at a loss. "What happened to you? Where have you been all these years?"

My brain processes the information. All these years? Old Sirius. James Potter's son. Fuck. I have a rather decent understanding of what has happened to me.

I don't know what to say to him. I mean, the thought passed my mind right after Potter insisted his name was Harry – that someone or something had tampered with Time Magic – but it was immediately discarded since it certainly did sound ludicrous.

"What year is it?" I ask mutedly, trying to push every disturbing thought and feeling into a dark corner of my mind, trying to put myself together. This has to be the freakiest situation I have ever got myself into.

"What?" Sirius asks with a perplexed look, and then realisation crosses his features. "You…don't belong in this time, do you?" Sirius asks slowly, his eyes roaming over my face and body.

"Sirius. What. Year." I grit through my teeth. My voice is trembling and I can feel blood rushing in my ears. The room is spinning.

Potter clears his throat. "1995," he says quietly, and I swallow deeply and close my eyes briefly. This can't be happening.

I run a list of swearwords inside my head and clench my jaw as I try to slow my speeding pulse and ease the pounding in my ears.  _1995_. I can deal with this. All I need to do is to stay calm. I assume I'm not in an immediate danger, since neither Potter nor my brother seem to be cursing me. I can figure this out. I have to.

The realisation is ringing in my head; I have somehow managed to time travel into the future.

"Circe…" I breathe and move towards the sofa as anxiety threatens to take over. I need to sit down before I pass out.

"Reggie?" Sirius asks with a tone what I assume is concern as he follows me to the sitting area in front of the fireplace. He takes a seat in an armchair next to the sofa onto which I have slumped. "Where were you before you came here?" He asks, and I think hard what I  _can_  say to him. I don't exactly trust him, even if he is my brother and apparently happy to see me alive. I don't even know who to trust anymore. I don't really have any friends. Not anymore.

"Nowhere important." I say.

"What year?" Sirius asks flatly.

Fuck. This isn't going to be easy. "1979." I say rigidly.

"Fuck me." Sirius mutters. "How did you do that?" He asks with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

I shake my head slightly. "I have no idea," I mutter and stare into the empty fireplace. How I managed a time-jump like that is beyond me. I really can't wrap my head around all of this. My parents…No, I can't go there, not now. What I should figure out is exactly what my brother asked from me. How did I do that? How did I travel through time without doing anything? Perhaps there was something in the poison I drank?

Potter – who is still a Potter, regardless if he is the spawn of the original Potter – comes to stand next to the fireplace, and eyes me distrustfully. What's with that?

"What are your intentions? Did Voldemort send you here to help him?" Potter asks, and only then my brother seems to remember that there is a close to zero amount of brotherly love between us, despite him caring if I am alive or not. My brother points his wand towards my chest, the look in his eyes hardening.

"Reggie. Please, for the love of Merlin, don't tell me you're here because of that son of a bitch?" He growls. I can see a hint of alarm in his eyes.

And I realise something from the nervous way they glance at each other. Dread fills me yet again. Is the Dark Lord still alive?

I frown at him. "No. I'm not. I left him." I say, and it's the truth.

Sirius gives me an incredulous look. "You must be barking mad if you think that he would let you go." He mutters.

I shrug. I know that. One doesn't simply leave the Dark Lord and live to see the next day, but to be honest, I didn't exactly have high expectations regarding my survival. "So he's still alive?" I ask curiously. Hasn't Kreacher destroyed the locket? I make a mental note to speak with my Elf as soon as possible, after I've managed to get a grasp of the situation. "Why are you here? In Grimmauld Place?" I ask from my brother. "You hate this place."

Sirius frowns. "Dunno if I can trust you with the information, brother." He says, glancing at Potter. "Harry, go wake Remus up, and tell him to floo Dumbledore in here." Sirius says and Potter nods and leaves the library with haste.

We stay silent for a while before my brother flicks his wand towards me, and I can't help but flinch. "Accio wand!"

Nothing happens. I arch a brow at him.

Sirius frowns at me. "Where's your wand, brother?" He asks coolly.

A faint smirk lifts my mouth. "No idea, brother," I answer, and can see him clenching his jaw with mild annoyance.

I decide to change the subject before he asks where I might have left it. "So, Dumbledore?" I ask indifferently. "You're still part of his little group?" I ask sarcastically, and Sirius narrows his eyes at me. I take that as a yes.

"You live here then? With the werewolf? What, did you run out of women?" I prod him, and receive a scowl in return.

I sigh. "Are we going to stay silent until your leader arrives?" I ask with a dull voice, and Sirius looks frustrated.

"Yes, Voldemort is still alive, and his antics haven't really changed from what you know of." Sirius says harshly. I'm sensing a hint of bitterness in him. "And I'm not telling you anything until Dumbledore has read your mind and made sure you're not a threat to us."

I lift my brows in surprise. Apparently my brother has finally matured enough to think before he acts. I try not to think about the fact that my brother is now so old that he could be my father. Hell, he even looks a bit like our father. "To us?" I mutter. "So is this place…a headquarters?" I ask, and see the answer flash in his eyes. I grin at him.

"Wanker." Sirius grumbles under his breath.

The door opens and my former Headmaster walks in with Potter trailing behind him, as well as a man I know from school, one of Sirius's friends, who apparently lives in my house these days. The werewolf. Lovely. I briefly wonder where the original Potter is, and why his teenage spawn is here instead. Sirius mentioned that something had happened to him. My brother and I stand up and walk towards the old wizard.

Dumbledore stares at me curiously, his blue eyes sharp as he assesses me over his half-moon spectacles.

"Regulus Black." He says and I give him a curt nod.

"Dumbledore." I say tersely.

His eyes bore into mine so intensely, that I want to avert my gaze but I know I can't. I know what comes next. I feel a sharp pain in my head as the old wizard nudges away the barriers in my mind and digs through my memories and thoughts. For the record, I'm an excellent Occlumens, but I know there's no point in blocking him out. At least not entirely. That would only cause mistrust towards me, and Merlin knows I really need allies now.

It takes some time before he retreats from my mind and leaves behind a raging headache.

"It seems that you have spoken the truth. You truly are from the past," Dumbledore says slowly. I can see that he's shocked from what he's seen. He has a calculative look in his eyes as he mulls over the information.

"So he's my brother? Who has travelled into the future?" Sirius confirms. Dumbledore nods. "And he's not one of Voldemort's servants anymore?" Sirius continues, and smirks when I cringe.

"I believe so. His actions before he came here support my assumption," Dumbledore obscurely replies, and Potter and Lupin frown as they watch us.

Sirius on the other hand eyes at me with a scrutinising look. "And what is it that he has done for you to make that assumption?"

I stare at my brother impassively. My mind whirls back to the situation I was in right before I made the unfortunate travel through time. Hundreds of dead corpses surrounding me, pulling me under the surface. Even if I had managed to escape the cave and stay in the same year, nothing good would've happened as the Dark Lord would have soon found out it was me who had stolen his Horcrux. No, I'm beginning to see there are some advantages for me in this unintentional time-jump.

"How did he get in here? Into this time?" Lupin asks and walks closer to us. He looks a lot older than my brother. Well, we can't all age well, can we?

Dumbledore looks thoughtful. "If I may?" He asks from me, his wand pointed towards me. I almost laugh, because I really don't have the option to refuse. I give the man a curt nod.

He flicks his wand and I can feel some sort of diagnostic charm sweep over me. I'm suddenly surrounded with wisps of grey smog, circling me slowly. Dumbledore hums as he studies the results.

"It seems that young mister Black here has provoked some kind of an ancient ritual, supposedly a ritual the Black ancestors have created." Dumbledore finally explains, and I listen intently. Because I have no fucking idea how I came to be in this time. To be honest, I don't fancy going back either.

"How is it provoked?" Sirius asks, looking unsurprised. I sigh wearily. Of course our family has ancient bloody rituals that extend through time.

"By sacrifice…" Potter says quietly. I turn to look at him with my brows lifted in a mild surprise. Everyone stares at him. Potter clears his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Um…Well…Hermione and I read about it earlier in the evening," He says, letting out a nervous wince.

"You did this?" I ask, my voice laced with accusation. What I would like to do is whack him in the head, but somehow I think the others might interfere.

Potter lifts his hands in surrender, his eyes flicking towards the others with unease. "We only read a couple of sentences in some book. We didn't know that it was as spell, I swear," he says hastily, a guilty look in his eyes. "And didn't Dumbledore just say you were the one who provoked the ritual?" Potter asks hesitantly, seeking a confirmation from my former Headmaster, who for some reason doesn't look into Potter's eyes as he nods back.

I groan inwardly and give Potter a chastising look. "First of all.  _Never_  read anything aloud. How thick are you? You're inside a Black ancestral home. We tend to be dark and twisty." I say sharply, and Sirius gives me a warning glare. I ignore him and continue. "What did you read? Show me." I demand and the boy scurries towards the table near the sofa to retrieve the book and to find the correct page.

He thrusts the book in my hands and I study the crumbling tome, its yellowish pages while Sirius comes next to me. I can feel Dumbledore's scrutinising stare against my left temple before he comes closer to see what is written in the book.

"I've never seen this before." My brother mutters.

"Says the boy who didn't even know we had a library…" I say wryly.

"Man."

"Whatever."

My eyes skim through the pages, my brain working to solve the matter. "So…Basically I faced death, was willing to sacrifice myself in order to restore my family's honour and you –" I say and glance at Potter, who leans uneasily against the back of the sofa with Lupin standing next to him, a reassuring hand on Potter's shoulder, " – called me into this time by speaking aloud the ritual and our house words?"

Potter nods. "I…um…Yes." He says, his voice wavering slightly.

Sirius eyes me with surprise, but says nothing. Everyone is silently processing the information.

Circe... This is really something. This is something I have never stumbled on, and trust me I have seen and heard plenty of unearthly things. I walk towards the seating area and place the book back on the table near the sofa and turn to look at the others expectantly.

Dumbledore hums in thought. "May I suggest that we continue our discussion between adults?" He says and gives Potter a kind smile. "I trust Molly will not be pleased if she finds you out of bed in the middle of the night."

Sirius clears his throat. "Sure. Um. Harry?" He says and cringes when the boy stares at him defiantly. I can see Lupin roll his eyes. I almost do too, since it's rather hilarious to watch.

They exchange some words and the young boy finally leaves with a loud huff, glaring the rest of us before he slips away from the library.

Sirius grins. "Okay then.  _'Accio Firewhiskey!'"_  he says and flicks his wand. I roll my eyes while he pours several hefty shots of the amber liquid into glasses that hover in air and hands them to everyone. "So…You were fighting against him? Voldemort?" Sirius asks as he sips his drink.

Must he utter that fucking psychopath's name? I swear to Merlin he's doing it just to rile me up.

"What an astute observation, brother." I say with a snide curl on my lip.

Sirius looks exasperated while Dumbledore and Lupin exchange a meaningful look.

"You gonna help us then? To finish him?" Sirius presses on.

I can feel everyone staring at me intently. Do I really have a choice in the matter? "It seems like that, yes." I reply eventually and take a sip of my drink. The Firewhiskey burns wonderfully, warming my insides.

"Brilliant." Sirius says simply, pouring more alcohol into his tumbler.

Dumbledore clears his throat. "Am I right to assume Voldemort wouldn't be overly delighted from the news of your existence?" He asks and eyes me sharply. What is it with these people, uttering his name like he's just someone insignificant? Although I do see the appeal in it, that they're not making a big deal of his name. I'm sure the Dark Lord would be quite unhappy if he knew.

I smirk inwardly and I nod. "Well, I'm sure the Dark Lord would be overly delighted for having the opportunity to rip my head off." I say dryly.

Dumbledore nods. "Then may I suggest that you stay here, in Grimmauld Place, and not leave the house in any circumstances. If Voldemort finds out about you and the fact that you haven't aged a day since 1979, he will be particularly interested and most likely will want to use the information for his gain." The old man says, and I scoff.

A house arrest? Really? I  _can_  do magic, you know, to disillusion myself or something. But then I remember I don't exactly have a wand on me. I sigh. "I guess I don't really have any options here." I grumble.

Dumbledore seems satisfied. "You and I have some things to discuss, Mr. Black." He says vaguely to me, and I nod. I know exactly what he wishes to discuss about. Sirius eyes us with suspicion but says nothing. "We will organise an Order meeting in a few days, into which you may participate if you are willing. That being said, I would like to speak with you before the meeting and go through some important matters." Dumbledore says, and I nod in agreement.

Fuck, really? I'm going to participate in an Order meeting? As in the Order of the Phoenix? The secret society, which by the way is not that secret they were hoping for. Yes, we know all about them. Or the Dark Lord knows. He apparently has a spy inside the Order. At least, that was what I learned some time ago.  _Some time_  indeed…

"He has a spy amongst your group, did you know that?" I ask, because, well, if I'm going to be near these people, I have to know I'm not ratted out to my former master.

Sirius and Lupin exchange a grim look. Dumbledore nods. "We are aware. He's not with us anymore, and instead has opted to fully join Voldemort."

Oh. "Who is he?" I ask curiously. Based on the looks the others give each other I'd say they know the spy.

"Pettigrew." Sirius growls.

I lift my brows in mild amusement, because, well…I'm not that surprised, really. I remember Pettigrew from school, and even though he was one of Sirius's friends, I knew he spent an awfully lot of time in the Slytherin dungeons as well.

Dumbledore clears his throat when he sees my brother becoming quite the moody himself. "Gentlemen, it is quite late, and I think each of us would like nothing more than to retreat for a good night's sleep. Mister Black," he says and turns to look at me, "I will come by tomorrow, and we can continue our discussion then. Can I rely for you to stay put until my arrival?" He asks as he prepares to leave, and his eyes flash at me with a warning.

I know what that means. I'm not to leave the house. I almost snort. Where would I even go, might I ask? But there is another message in his gaze, requesting me to stay silent. I know I am not to reveal the circumstances I was in before I came here. I suspect that Dumbledore wishes to learn everything there is to know, as I'm quite sure my memories gave him only a vague outline of the events. Based on the evasive way Dumbledore has spoken in front of them, I doubt that neither my brother nor the werewolf knows about the Horcrux. And it seems like Dumbledore wants to keep it that way.

"I'll be here." I say, almost sarcastically. Dumbledore nods and leaves the room.

Sirius smirks. "Come on, brother. It can't be that bad. I'm in the same boat as you." He says, bitterness seeping from his voice as he sits down on the sofa and pours himself another drink. Lupin says nothing but sits in the armchair, opposite to him.

I frown at him. "What do you mean?" I ask and sit next to him on the sofa.

Sirius barks a laugh. "Oh, Reggie…That's a long story."

 


	3. Heavy Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand the story continues... I'd love to hear your thoughts on this, so please, leave a review! :)

 

**Chapter 3: Heavy Heart**

**Grimmauld Place, August 1st 1995**

I'm getting tired but I still want to hear what my brother is on about. And, well, I don't really know if I can sleep in here. I know this is my home, but the thought that it has been taken over by the Order – and apparently some of them live here now – is rather disturbing.

"Well? I'm all ears." I say, and study my brother as he pours me another drink.

He caps the bottle and gives Lupin a brief glance before his eyes lock with mine. "You want to know everything that has happened since 1979?" He asks, and I can see coldness in his eyes that is new to me. Now I'm even more curious to learn what has happened in this world, and to him.

I nod and sip my drink.

He swallows. "Pettigrew betrayed us. He sold Lily and James to Voldemort." He says wearily and looks down.

So…Potter and the Muggleborn are dead. I can see it in my brother's and Lupin's eyes.

"I'm sorry for your loss." I mutter, out of politeness, since I don't really care. I didn't know them.

Sirius frowns and glares at the table as he continues. "Everyone thought it was me," he says resentfully. "I had a feeling in my gut the night it happened…So I went to see them. James and Lily. It was too late. I came too late to see my best friend's –" I hear his voice crack with emotion " – and his wife's lifeless bodies," He mumbles with thick voice.

Shit. I glance at Lupin. He looks devastated. I don't understand. I mean, I get that it must be hard to talk about their friends' deaths, but…it should be easier after years have gone by.

My brother takes a deep breath and opens the bottle again, and takes a swig straight from it. "I tracked him down, and then Wormt… _Pettigrew_  blew up a street full of muggles and faked his death. I was there. And then the Aurors came." He says darkly, looking somewhat crazed, and the bottle in his hand shatters into pieces.

"Fuck!" I yell in surprise as the liquid and shards of glass scatter everywhere.

Lupin stands up quickly and lifts his wand. I flinch, but he only waves it to clean up the mess my brother made. Sirius shoves his hands in his hair and leans his elbows on his knees. He's shaking. I'm beginning to feel slightly alarmed.

"Pads…" Lupin says quietly. They're apparently still calling each other with those stupid names. Lupin and I both stare at my brother, whose face is twisted with pain and madness.

I clear my throat. "Sirius?"

Sirius starts to laugh. He fucking laughs. What the fuck is going on? I glance at Lupin helplessly, but he gives me back a grim look and shakes his head slightly. Lupin and I stay silent for a while until my brother's laughter dries up.

"What happened?" I ask impatiently.

Sirius whirls to look at me. He glares at me. He bares his teeth. He looks like a fucking lunatic and I'm quite alarmed now, to be honest.

"WHAT THE  _FUCK_  DO YOU THINK HAPPENED?!" He growls, and I can barely keep my impassive expression intact.

"I was taken to Azkaban, dear brother." He says lightly. The variation in his voice makes me feel anything but at ease. I'm beginning to think that he's suffering from mania.

"For  _twelve_  fucking years." He says with a mad grin.

And now I know why.

"I'm…I…Fuck." I stammer for the second time this night. I'm speechless. My brother has been in a prison for twelve years. For a crime he didn't commit. That's just…sad. I also feel a bit guilty for not being there for him. Why did the Order and his friends let him rot in there for that long? I'm finding it hard to believe that they all had bought Pettigrew's scheme.

Sirius huffs and stands up. "I need a drink." He grunts and leaves the library.

"Where did he go?" I ask from Lupin, who shrugs and stares at his hands.

I stare at him and see how conscience-stricken he looks. I wonder where he had been when my brother was suffering in prison. Weren't they supposed to be friends? I ask him, and he clenches his jaw and turns to look at me.

"I…I thought it was Sirius. I thought he was guilty." He says with shame edged into his voice and I arch a disbelieving brow at him. I don't really buy that shit, since everyone who knew Potter and my brother, knew they practically worshipped each other.

Lupin clears his throat. "Look, Regulus…Sirius is not all right. I'm sure you understand that. He's spent twelve years in a small cell, surrounded by Dementors, repeating his worst memories in his head every minute of every day." He says with a guilt-ridden look.

I give him a contemplative nod. I get that. He has the right to be a bit insane after that. "How did he get out?" I ask, studying Lupin. I'm curious about the details since I doubt the Ministry just lets people out from the goodness of their heart.

He frowns. "He escaped two years ago. He's been on the run for most of that time, living in the woods and caves, trying to feed himself with rats and wild animals." Lupin says and even though I take note that he doesn't exactly answer my question – since it should be quite impossible to escape Azkaban – I'm rather dumbstruck.

"And where were you?" I ask coldly.

He smiles thinly. "A year ago, I met Sirius and found out what exactly had happened with James and Lily. Who really betrayed them. Sirius stayed at my place for a while, but since the Aurors were still searching for him, he took off. He wanted to be closer to Harry."

"Potter's son?"

He nods slowly. "Sirius's godson."

I roll my eyes. Of course.

I stifle a yawn, knowing that there's still more to the story. "And all this time, you've been fighting against the Dark Lord?" I ask, wondering if the war has been going on all this time.

Lupin shakes his head and eyes me thoughtfully for a moment before he speaks. "It's only been over a month since his resurrection. He was defeated in 1981."

"By whom?" I ask. I'm impressed, not by the Dark Lord's resurrection, but that someone was actually able to defeat him. The fact that he was able to come back indicates that the Horcrux was indeed not destroyed.

"Harry Potter." Sirius says from the doorway. He has a fresh new bottle of Firewhiskey in hand and he staggers a bit as he walks towards the fireplace and plops down next to me. He's drunk.

I frown at him but decide to focus on what he said, and I'm slightly taken aback as I process the information. "What?" I ask with irritation. The boy must have been a mere toddler then.

Sirius sighs. "Let's just say he did. It's not something I'm willing to go through right now." He says harshly.

I nod. "So the Dark Lord was defeated in 1981?" I ask, waiting for either of them to continue.

My brother scowls at me. "Must you call him that? You sound like a fucking Death Eater." He says with a hint of sneer.

I smirk bitterly. "Can't really help it, brother. I  _was_  a Death Eater, I'm sure you knew that."

Sirius grits his teeth and Lupin coughs uncomfortably.

"As I said, he was resurrected a little over a month ago." Lupin says quickly. "The Order was reformed days after that."

So…It seems that everything is starting over again. Only now, it seems I'm stuck on the other side. Don't get me wrong, I hope the Dark Lord is defeated for once and for all, but…I'm not exceedingly willing to put myself into such danger again, not after what happened in the cave. I have seen his forces, witnessed his power and faced death. Because of that, I'm suddenly hoping I wasn't in the middle of all this.

Lupin yawns. My eyelids feel heavier and I can feel the beginning of a migraine. It is still dark outside, but according to the goblin made timepiece on the wall it's nearly three in the morning.

"I think we should continue this tomorrow." Lupin says tiredly and eyes my brother with a pointed look. He then stands up and pries the bottle from Sirius's hands.

Sirius glances at me. "Night, Reggie." He grunts, and I get the feeling that he's dismissing me. What an arse. Even though he apparently is the head of my house now, he clearly lacks subtlety.

I roll my eyes and stand up, swaying slightly as I move towards the door. I need to rest, now.

 _Fuck_. I enter my room, after what seemed to be a thousand steps. I hate not being able to apparate. I glance around in the darkness. The room is dusty and the air is stuffy, but everything seems to be untouched. Kreacher has probably kept the place in order in my absence. I sigh with relief and crash into my bed with my clothes on, falling asleep immediately.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, August 1st 1995**

I wake up with a groan. My head is pounding. My mouth is dry. I need something to drink.

I slowly blink and see the sun shining brightly behind the emerald and silver curtains of my bedroom. What the hell? How did I get here? It takes me a moment to remember as the memories from last night fill my mind.

"Kreacher," I say weakly, and immediately hear a faint pop beside my bed.

"Master calls Kreacher?" The Elf murmurs, and I squint at it. I didn't notice it last night, but the Elf certainly looks much older than I remember. Well, it is older, isn't it?

"Could I have some water? And some Pepper-up Potion?" I croak to the Elf, who nods fervently.

"Of course, master Regulus!" Kreacher squeaks and disapparates. Soon the Elf emerges again, with a glass of water and a purple vial of Pepper-up Potion. I sit up on the bed and lean against the headboard.

"Thank you, Kreacher." I say wearily and inspect the potion a bit longer than I normally would, a cold chill running down my spine as I remember the last potion I drank. I eventually drain the potion and the water, while my Elf stares at me with wide eyes.

"What is it?" I ask, not unkindly.

Kreacher's ears quiver. "Master is alive." The Elf whispers.

I smile. "Yes, I am. I'm glad to see you are as well." I say, and it is the truth. Kreacher's the only one in this place – and this time – I trust.

"What happened here after I…left?" I ask, and Kreacher lets out a miserable sob.

"Mistress is distraught with grief after master Regulus disappears and Master dies." The Elf wails. "She kills herself in the end," the Elf blubbers.

 _Fuck_. This is too much. I don't want to think about the fates of my parents right now. I swallow deeply. "You stayed here after? Alone?"

Kreacher nods. "Until Master Sirius, the filthy blood-traitor, comes back", Kreacher mutters, and I narrow my eyes at the Elf. Kreacher seems oblivious.

"Who else lives here? Who comes around here?" I ask. I want to prepare myself if I stumble on someone I'm not that friendly with.

Kreacher pulls its ears. "Master Sirius forbids Kreacher to tell."

I groan inwardly. "You can tell me, Kreacher. You can trust me," I say patiently, and smile at the Elf.

That does it, apparently. I learn that in addition to my brother and the Werewolf, a whole clan of Weasleys live in here, as well as a Muggleborn witch and my brother's godson, Harry Potter. Mother would be so proud. For a moment, I amuse myself with the thought of how she would react if she saw all those people running around in her house, before the thought of her makes it hard for me to breathe. Instead I focus on Kreacher, who tells me that several Aurors and other questionable people stop by every week. One of them is my old friend, Severus Snape. I wonder what he's up to nowadays. I guess I'll find out soon enough.

I know I have to ask about the Horcrux. "What happened to the locket, Kreacher?" I ask gravely. Kreacher starts to shake with fear.

"Master Regulus…Kreacher tries to destroy it, like master tells it to. But Kreacher is unsuccessful. The locket is not breaking." The Elf says miserably, eyeing me with fear.

Of course. I should've known that Kreacher wouldn't be able to destroy it. I vaguely remember reading something about the methods, and I presume my Elf doesn't share the knowledge.

"Where is it now?" I ask hastily. I truly hope Kreacher has kept it safe.

Kreacher eyes me warily. "I keeps it in the drawing room. With mistress's other artefacts."

I wave of relief washes over me. "Could you bring it to me?" I ask kindly, and Kreacher nods eagerly before disapparating. A minute later, the Elf presents the locket to me, and I examine it closely. I can feel the dark magic thrumming inside of it. Images of the cave, a hundred Inferi and the horrendous self-destructive thoughts – a lovely side effect of the poison – start to swarm in my head. I feel dizzy. I quickly place the locket into my bedside table drawer. I ask Kreacher to lock it so that no one else but me can open it.

After Kreacher has locked the drawer with its magic, I ask the Elf to clean up my room and retrieve me a fresh set of clothes while I take a shower in the bathroom attached to my bedroom.

Fuck, this feels good. A warm stream of water runs down my body, washing away the grime of the last twenty-four hours. I sigh and lean my hands against the tile wall as the water pours into my back and neck. I twist my left arm and see the gruesome mark. I loathe it. How could I have been so stupid? Why couldn't I have been like my brother? I only did what was expected of me, and where did that get me in the end?

I'm overwhelmed by the thoughts that circle in my head. I've lost everything and everyone. I'm trapped in another time, in the future. I can't go back – I know what fate awaits me there. But I don't know if I belong here either.

Before I've finished washing, I briefly consider getting myself off, but eventually decide against it and step away from the shower. I don't think even masturbation is going to clear my head.

I get dressed, and find my room to be rid of the dust. I hope Kreacher will expand his cleaning skills to the rest of the house, since what I saw last night…well, let's just say the place is filthy.

I walk downstairs, slowly, quietly, trying to listen to the other occupants. It's quiet, and I assume everyone is downstairs having breakfast. The smells that float in the air are divine. I start to walk faster towards the dining room on the ground floor, my stomach rumbling as I descend the stairs. Once I get there, I pause in confusion. I can hear voices of conversation, laughter, and clattering of plates and goblets coming from the basement. The others must be having breakfast in the kitchen, which is not as fancy and spacious as the dining room. I shake my head in bemusement and walk down a set of narrow stone stairs towards the basement.

I push the kitchen door open, feeling quite nervous.

"Reggie!" My brother exclaims happily. He's looking cheerful and relaxed – quite the opposite from what I saw last night. "Come here," He says with a grin and makes room at the table between him and his godson.

Everyone is staring at me, making me uncomfortable. I glance around the kitchen. It's equally filthy as the rest of the house, but otherwise exactly like I remember it. The iron pots and pans are hanging from the ceiling like they always have. The large wooden table in the centre of the room hasn't moved an inch. The people who sit around it though, are something new entirely.

"Everyone. This is my brother, Regulus." Sirius introduces me with a wide grin, and based on the non-surprised looks on everyone, I can only assume they knew already.

"Pleased to meet you," I say politely to everyone, my voice tight. Everyone murmurs their greetings as I move smoothly to sit down next to my brother.

They are all still staring at me.

"So, you've met Harry and Remus already," My brother says. "This it Arthur Weasley and his wife, Molly," Sirius says and nods towards a ginger-haired man and woman, sitting on the opposite side of the table.

Mr. Weasley grins at me and gives me a nod. "Good to meet you, Regulus." He says. I nod and reply accordingly.

"How are you adjusting, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asks from me, and I'm a bit stunned from the too familiar behaviour.

I clear my throat. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Good, good. Coffee or Tea?" She asks kindly.

"Tea, please," I say and give her a polite smile. She flicks her wand and a steaming mug of tea appears in front of me.

"These are our children," Mrs. Weasley says and eyes the several children scattered along the table. "The redheads, at least. Although, I always think of Harry and Hermione my own as well," She continues with a chuckle, nodding towards the brown-haired witch and Potter, who sit side by side next to me.

"Fred and George are the ones at the end of the table, then Ronald, and Ginevra." She says and I nod and greet them. The children – or well, teenagers – greet me with suspicious looks before they resume their meals.

I sip my tea and eat my breakfast in silence. I listen as the Weasley children bicker with their parents. Potter too stays silent and I can feel him studying me from the corner of his eye. Lupin and my brother discuss Ministry politics, which seem to be the same as in my past. Everyone's acting like nothing is different. Like nothing strange has happened. As if a stranger isn't sitting among them. Or that said stranger doesn't currently possess a piece of the Dark Lord's soul, or, at least, have that piece of a soul kept stashed in his bedside table.

Mr. Weasley leaves for work, and Mrs. Weasley orders everyone – the children, that is, since I'm sure as hell not going to take orders from someone who has taken over my home – to wash themselves and then to their chores.

I yawn and take another piece of toast from the serving plate. As I nibble it absently, the kitchen slowly clears and only my brother and I stay at the table.

"So…How are you doing?" Sirius asks, drumming his fingers against the table. He takes a sip from his coffee, and I'm quite sure he has spiked it with alcohol. God, my brother's a proper drunk.

I scrunch up my nose in distaste as I eye his cup, and he barks a laugh.

"I'm fine," I reply plainly.

I'm far from fine, actually, but us Blacks are taught to keep our emotions to ourselves.

Sirius sighs. "Yeah." He mutters, evidently far from fine as well.

We stay silent for a while.

"What did you mean yesterday?" He suddenly asks. "You said something about facing death. About sacrificing yourself," He says, and gives me a scrutinising look.

I try not to groan. Fuck. How am I going to explain that?

"I only assumed it must have happened since that was what the spell required," I say simply.

"What does that mean? Where were you before you came here?" He asks sharply.

I shrug indifferently. "Dunno. I don't remember." I say, and he scoffs.

"You're lying, Reggie." He says tersely, and god, he looks just like father. I can't think of him right now. I can't handle it. I look away and clench my jaw.

There is a short silence before Sirius sighs again. "We're cleaning up the house, to make it more habitable, to serve as headquarters. Care to join us?" He asks, and I shake my head with incredulity.

"Me? To clean my own house?" I huff and give him an unbelieving look. "You must be well out of your tree if you think I'm going to scrub the floors, brother." I retort with a sneer.

He grumbles something under his breath, finishes his coffee with a single gulp and stands up. "Whatever. We'll be in the drawing room." He says moodily and leaves the kitchen.

I heave a sigh. What now? I decide to look over the house as I wait for Dumbledore to arrive.

I walk upstairs to the ground floor and step into father's study, which is opposite to the dining room. The room is dark and musty, the black curtains drawn in front of the windows. The place is crawling with spiders, doxies and other pests. I purse my lips, really hoping I'd had a wand on me, and make a mental note to discuss about that with Dumbledore. Or someone. I glance at father's desk, and it's neat, as always. I walk closer and open one of the drawers – his Firewhiskey stash is intact. Smirking slightly, I close the drawer and leave the room. The hallway is dark and quiet, but I can hear a faint muttering from the wall behind moth-eaten velvet curtains. My interest piqued, I walk closer and open them. And I freeze in shock.

I'm facing a woman in a portrait, who starts to scream, her eyes rolling in her head as she stares at me.

"M-Mother?" I croak as I take in the woman in the portrait. She's old, her skin is yellow, and she's wearing a black cap and veil.

The woman lets out a strangled moan, her eyes widening and for a moment I think she's going to faint – if that is even possible.

" _Regulus_!" She screeches.

"Mother?" I ask again in shock. What is happening? Why is her portrait here? I swallow deeply as I stare at her.

" _Oh! Regulus! My dear son, worthy son, the heir to my House! Finally my son is here to cleanse this place from the Half-breeds, mutants and freaks! I thank you Salazar_!" She wails incoherently.

"I'm…I…" I manage to choke. This is quite overwhelming. I still haven't had the time to deal with my parents' deaths, and now I'm facing my deceased mother's portrait. It's…nauseating. I'm having a hard time to think straight.

"So…I see you've met mother." Sirius says from the foot of the stairs, staring at me with an amused expression.

I stare at him in disbelief. "You think this is funny?" I gasp, and my brother hasn't got the time to answer me, before mother starts to screech again.

" _Yoooou_!" Mother shrieks, a sneer taking place on her face as she sees my brother. " _YOU! The Blood traitor, abomination, the shame of my flesh!_ " She screams. " _I thank Merlin that the rightful heir of my House has finally arrived to rid this place from filth!_ " She continues, now drooling as she screams with dedication.

Oh, mother. I sigh with exasperation and bewilderment. This is all kinds of fucked up.

Sirius grins at her. The fucker. "You're deranged, dear mother. I know you  _love_  it when I bring the scum around," My brother says cunningly and laughs as he flicks his wand at the portrait. The curtains close and my mother's screams are muffled, and soon fade away.

I'm still trying to process what I have just witnessed. My head starts to hurt. I need to lie down.

Sirius is smirking at me. I walk to him, shaking with anger, with grief, with disgust. I give him a proper shove and my brother staggers backwards, bumping towards the wall as I push past at him towards the stairs. I need to get away from him.

"Reggie…come on, I'm just having a bit of fun with her, is all…" He says with a hint of remorse in his voice.

I turn swiftly and give him a cold look. "You're sick." I say simply and turn around, and head towards my room.

I hear my brother sighing wearily.

Once I return to my room, I really curse not owning a wand. I want to smash things, to throw things. But I can't do a damn thing, because even if I managed to ask Kreacher to fix everything up, everyone will still hear me raging about in my room.

I lie in my bed and stare at the canopy. I think about my parents, of how they were, every last detail about them. How father was silent, but always eyed me with pride, even if we weren't in public. How he complimented me from my school records, how he started to explain the family investments to me. How he started to train me to be the next Head of House Black. I think about mother, who always smothered me with praise, how she was overjoyed when I turned out to be just like she wanted. Only two days ago, they were here. And now they are gone, forever. I grit my teeth and try to swallow the lump from my throat. Even though I wasn't as close with my parents as I was with my brother during our childhood, they were still my parents.

My blood.


	4. Long Way Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Here you go :)

**Chapter 4: Long Way Down**

**Grimmauld Place, August 1st 1995**

Kreacher pops into my room and announces that my former Headmaster has arrived, and is waiting for me in the library. I sigh and stand up from the armchair I've been lounging in. I've spent the morning contemplating my impending conversation with the old wizard; what he already knows and what he will ask from me. And what exactly I wish to include with him. I recall Dumbledore's brief intrusion into my mind, and I'm quite sure he doesn't know about the locket. What he does know, is that my every intention was to betray my former master, and to find a way to destroy him. What he did see, was the cave and the creatures guarding it. I know this, because these were the thoughts and memories most forefront in my mind last night.

I know what I will do, and what I will say to him. Before I open the door to the library, I clear my mind and close the walls guarding my mind. This is going to be a long and tiresome day, and it is only afternoon.

"Are you available to discuss certain matters, Mr. Black?" Dumbledore asks as I enter the library.

I nod, and he smiles and gestures for me to take a seat on the couch near the fire. I sit down silently as Kreacher pops in again to bring us tea and biscuits. How the old wizard managed to get the Elf to perform that, is beyond me. I mean, look at the place. Kreacher hasn't exactly been taking care of the house or itself either.

I thank my Elf before it disapparates.

"So," Dumbledore says as he lifts his cup and examines its intricate details. "I think we should talk about your whereabouts last night, before you travelled into this time." He says simply and takes a sip of his tea.

I study him for a moment before I clear my throat. "Yes, well, my memories from last night are not the most detailed, but I'll try," I say. My memories are intact, but I'm not sharing more than needed to gain his trust. I am a Slytherin, after all.

He eyes me carefully, and I can't decide if he's believing me or not. "Not to worry. We can start with the most obvious one, then." He says, and his eyes are filled with thoughts as he studies me. "Why did you turn against your master?"

I roll my eyes inwardly, having predicted his first question. I give him a steady look. "Because I didn't share his beliefs," I say and can feel the muscle in my forearm twitching. I try to ignore it as I continue, "at least not to the extent of killing for them." I know how it sounds, since I most certainly knew what I was up against before I joined the Death Eaters.

"I joined him because of my family. I joined the Death Eaters because I thought I didn't have a choice. Needless to say, I regret it now," I say honestly and stare into his speculative eyes.

Dumbledore listens to my words carefully before nodding slowly. "A family…It can be a burden, and yet so necessary and important to have," he says cryptically, almost lost in thought.

There's a short silence before the old wizard speaks again. "You didn't only turn your back to him, but aimed to destroy him, yes?" He asks sharply, and the thoughtful look in his eyes is replaced by something…inscrutable.

"Yes," I say simply, all the while reading him, trying to fathom what he knows. What he's seen.

"How?" He presses on.

I supress a shiver of unease as I look into his hard gaze, the friendly look in his eyes vanished long ago.

I decide to speak partly the truth. "It came to my knowledge that the Dark Lord had a secret. Something he was keeping from everyone. I never learned what it was, but I found out its location," I say darkly.

"The cave?" Dumbledore asks calmly. "You were there?"

I give him a curt nod. "Yes."

He hums quietly, evidently contemplating if I'm speaking the truth. "And what did you see there?" He asks, and I can hear urgency in his voice, even though his expression is mostly unreadable. And I know he hasn't seen it. The locket.

I calm myself before answering to him. I need him to believe me, and there's no room for uncertainty. "A bunch of corpses that had been bewitched to do his bidding. Inferi." I say dryly, since I'm sure he's seen them in my mind as well as the cave. "Other than that, nothing. Whatever there was is not anymore." I say simply.

The old wizard stares at me for a long while, staying silent. I begin to feel slightly nervous, but I manage to keep my impassive mask on. He's testing me, trying to see if I falter. He's trying to decide if he can trust me, and I can see a flicker of suspicion in his eyes. I keep the memories regarding the locket tucked safely in the deepest corner of my mind, but he doesn't seek entrance into my mind. I wonder why? Because I would. I was a Death Eater, after all. Probably still am in his eyes.

"Your brother seems delighted by your presence," he says all of a sudden, his blue eyes searching something from mine.

I arch a brow at him. "Not sure if I agree to your assumption," I say with wry amusement. I don't know what the situation between me and my brother is. The last time saw him, before my time-jump, I told him to stay away from me. Sure, we were close when we were younger, but as we grew older and were forced to choose sides, the wedge between us deepened. We rarely spoke to each other after he ran away from home, and it wasn't for lack of trying on his part.

"He trusts you." Dumbledore says and gives me a knowing look.

I try not to shift in place. My brother was always so easily trusting, so open, and very much failing to see the faults in the people he cared about. I wonder how much of that has remained, after being betrayed by one of his closest friends. But at the same time, I understand the real intent behind his words. I must hand it to him, he is rather insightful; the way he's using my brother to ensure my trustworthiness.

"I know." I say a bit stiffly.

Dumbledore seems to consider this. "Does he have a reason not to trust you?"

"No." I say truthfully. Because I wouldn't betray him. I'm not saying we're in the best place at the moment, and I'm not saying that I trust him. But he is my brother. And in this time, he is the only family I've got.

Dumbledore seems satisfied enough. "Very well. Then I can assume the rest of us don't have any reason not to trust you either."

I nod silently.

"Splendid." He says after a short silence, a hint of enthusiasm in his voice. "Now that it is sorted, we can discuss about your existence in this time, and, well, how do we move on from here," He says lightly, sipping his tea.

"That would be acceptable." I say, my mind whirling with thoughts and matters I wish to solve. "What happens to me? How long do I stay here? Am I dead to the world?" I ask bluntly.

Dumbledore considers my questions for a bit before he speaks. "I'm afraid I do not hold all the answers to your questions. I can only guess, and based on what we learned yesterday about your arrival, I assume your stay here is permanent." He says, and I give him a muted nod. I don't know if I'm happy about it, but it's not like I had much to go with where I came from.

"When you went missing in the late seventies, you were announced dead. I believe even your family tapestry bears a date of your passing." He says, and I'm slightly taken aback. I know the tapestry is charmed to change the details by itself when a member of our family is born or deceased. But shouldn't the details in the tapestry change again since I'm…well, alive?

Dumbledore seems to guess my line of thought. "The magic in your ancestral tapestry is unfamiliar to me and I shall not, therefore, speculate upon it," he says with a hint of a smile. "But, I am afraid your passing to the rest of the wizarding world is something we cannot change. At least not now, when a war is surely on its way." He says gravely.

"What does that mean? I'm stuck inside my home until the war is over? Like my brother?" I ask bitterly. I know we breached this topic the previous night, but I need to know every aspect of my current situation.

He gives me an apologising look. "I'm afraid so."

I scoff. "That could take years." I point out, and he only nods in agreement.

Well…Fuck me.

"The moment we reinstate you as a citizen of the wizarding world and as a member of House Black, all eyes turn towards you. If Voldemort is alive, he will most certainly want you to serve him. He will want to use you. And perhaps, to punish you. I trust you know this already." He says, and I nod. Of course I know. But the idea of being trapped inside my home with my drunken brother and a herd of Weasleys is just not that appealing.

"I don't have a wand." I say grimly. "I'm I allowed to obtain one?" I ask, feeling slightly petulant.

I need a wand. I doubt I can remain sane without the ability to use magic, especially in the midst of all these people. And even though I have studied wandless magic – and as it seems that I'm in a house arrest for an uncertain amount of time, I most probably will continue studying that sphere of magic – I still know I'm no match to anyone without a wand.

Dumbledore seems thoughtful. "There might be a way to acquire you one. I will have to look into that," He says obscurely. I merely nod at him as I study him.

"As I mentioned last night, the Order is gathering here the day after tomorrow. I hope you will join the meeting?" He says, eyeing me with a questionable look.

Do I have any choice? Sure, I could say no and stay in my room, but…I want to know where we are at the moment. I need to know everything that is going on. I tell him so, and he gives me a pleased look.

"Then I will meet you the day after tomorrow." He says and stands up. I get up as well and nod him for farewell.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, August 3rd 1995**

I've been keeping to myself for the past two days, staying in my room and trying to wrap my head around everything, trying to figure out what to do with the part of the Dark Lord's soul that rests not so peacefully in my bedside table. I haven't slept well, and I know it is mainly because of the artefact, which thrums with dark magic so powerful it can slip into my mind when my guard is down – when I'm asleep.

I decided to avoid sleeping, and instead have been wandering around the house at nights, after everyone's retired to their rooms. Or so I thought they would be. On the first night I ran into my brother, but after I politely told him to bugger off and let me be for a while, he seemed to understand I needed some space.

On the second night I stumbled on the teenagers in the staircase while they were sneaking on and off each other's rooms. If only their parents knew what they're up to. Well, it's not like I care.

On Thursday afternoon, I decide to stop by my mother's room on the third floor. I've been putting it off for a few days now, since I know it will be hard to see the place without her. I know the Weasley parents are staying in father's room – yes, I know. Arranged marriage and all – and the twin Weasleys occupy the guest room on the same floor. The third room – mother's room – is empty of inhabitants, and I assume no one stays there in fear of some horrid curse attacking them when breaching her room. Well, to be honest, mother probably has had that set up for intruders.

Or at least, I  _thought_  it was empty. As I open the door and step in, I'm ashamed to say a high-pitched scream escapes from my mouth. I'm face to face with a large creature, half horse, half eagle. A Hippogriff. The creature lets out an angry snarl and charges at me, its long and deadly-looking talons in its front legs raised, ready to slice me in half.

I manage to bolt from the room and slam the door behind me. I'm ready to sprint towards the stairs, but the Hippogriff doesn't follow, so I assume the room's warded to prevent that. I let out a shocked, deep breath and lean against the railing in the hallway, trying to steady my pulse. I notice that one of the Weasley children – the girl – is smirking at me from the next landing. Bloody urchin.

"BROTHER!" I yell and start to make my way downstairs. I soon hear a familiar voice that is screaming from the top of her lungs. " _Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth!"_

Fuck. I forgot. Mother.

"Reggie! If you insist on whinging, I recommend you do it in the confines of your room. Or ANY room!" My brother yells with an annoyed voice from downstairs.

I reach the ground floor and see him wrenching the curtains of our mother's portrait together. Mother is still screaming like a lunatic.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" I drawl sarcastically over the screaming. "I must've missed the memo of 'do not enter mother's room if you don't want to suffer a gruesome death'!" I snap at him, a sneer curling my lips.

Sirius rolls his eyes and lets go of the curtains. He quickly flicks his wand towards the portrait before mother has a chance to screech another litany of obscenities.

He grimly nods his head towards the basement. I let out a weary sigh, but follow him into the kitchen.

Apparently it is dinner time, and the kitchen is filled with the house's current occupants. But there are others as well. I recognise two Aurors from my time and then there's someone who seems vaguely familiar. A girl, in her early twenties, her short hair a vivid shade of pink. Based on what she's wearing I'd say she's an Auror as well. Where have I seen her?

"Regulus Black." The girl in the bubble gum pink hair says with an impressed look and walks over to me to the doorway.

I arch a brow at her. "Yes?"

The girl – woman perhaps – laughs. "Don't recognise your cousin?" She says teasingly, and I hear my brother chuckle as he leans on the wall close to us.

Then it suddenly makes sense. "Nymphadora…" I say in a mild surprise. I've never actually met the woman – or girl then – but the Black features are unmistakable. She looks very much like her mother, Andromeda.

She scrunches up her nose and I hear a few stifled laughs at the table.

"I prefer Tonks. Or Dora." She says bitterly. "Mother has a peculiar sense of humour," She says flatly and I smirk at her. I might just call her Nymphadora from now on.

"Good to meet you, cousin," I say, and she surprises me by enveloping me into a quick embrace. I of course stand rigidly in place.

"You too," She says lightly and when she releases me, I'm introduced to the two other Aurors, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody. I know who they are. The other one was quite known and feared in the Death Eater circles. It was said that he was quite the madman, and to be honest, he definitely looks the part.

Mrs. Weasley orders everyone at the table, and I sit between her and my cousin. Everyone starts to eat and the conversation flows. They all seem to be discussing about some hearing Potter is going to attend.

"Why are you going into a hearing?" I ask Potter, who sits opposite to me, next to my brother.

He's surprised, since I haven't really spoken to anyone before this. "I, uh…performed magic in front of my muggle cousin," He says bluntly. Many heads turn towards us.

I arch a brow at him. "Quite careless," I say, and he actually rolls his eyes.

"I think not. Especially when two Dementors threaten our lives," He says harshly. I lift my brows in surprise. Dementors are roaming the streets? Things must be worse than I thought.

He's staring at me with a challenging look, and I feel a twitch of annoyance. "So you performed a Patronus charm? That's rather…advanced. Although…I have to say, I'm not surprised," I say dryly.

His green eyes flash with irritation. "What is that supposed to mean?" He asks with a tight voice.

My brother drapes a calming arm around Potter's shoulder. "I think what my dear brother meant was that he is not surprised that you are as talented as your father was," Sirius says calmingly, his grey eyes briefly narrowing towards mine. I inwardly roll my eyes and turn my focus on my plate.

"So, cousin," Nymphadora says beside me, eyeing me with a scrutinising look. "What's your story?"

I give her a shrug. "I'm sure you know all about it already…" I say wryly and she smirks.

"Well, only the outline of things. I mean, it's not that hard to learn the gossip around here." She says and winks at the teenagers on the opposite side of the table. I resist the urge to glare at them.

"Well?" My cousin says and nudges me.

I turn towards her with an expressionless look. I can see everyone glancing at me surreptitiously as I answer to my cousin. "I'm afraid I can't remember anything about the circumstances before my arrival." I say and I can see Potter staring at me from the corner of my eye, but I don't turn to look at him.

My cousin shrugs. "Too bad." She says easily and returns to her meal. I see the werewolf watch our conversation closely. I arch a brow at him, and he narrows his eyes a bit, seeming to contemplate something. The air is thick with suspicion, to say the least.

I eat my dinner, which is some sort of a stew Mrs. Weasley has prepared. It's good, and I wouldn't complain even if it wasn't. I have manners. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said about the Weasley spawn. Clearly being a pureblood has nothing to do with one's comportment.

After dinner, the teenagers are dismissed and more people arrive. At least ten more people. Everyone eyes me with curiosity and uncertainty as they take their places around the table. Some of them recognise me and gasp in shock before they start to whisper to the person sitting next to them. As my former house-mate Severus Snape walks in and locks his black eyes to mine, he stills in mid-walk. Before anyone can start shooting questions, Dumbledore walks in and asks for everyone to stay silent while he explains the situation.

As Dumbledore explains my circumstances by giving away only the necessary details, Severus doesn't move his stare away from me. I look back with a blank expression, and both of us are probably wondering if the other one can be trusted. How is he here? He was a Death Eater, as far as I remember. Has he changed sides? If so, how is he alive still?

"How can we be sure that he can be trusted?" A man who looks vaguely familiar asks. There's a low muttering around the table.

My brother arches a brow at the man. "He  _is_  my brother, Doge," he says heatedly. I'm a bit taken how my brother keeps my back, how he believes in me.

"That doesn't necessarily mean his goals are well-intentioned," A man whom I recognise from school; Sturgis Podmore, says calmly.

"Didn't you just hear Dumbledore?" Sirius asks with annoyance. "My brother's mind was searched through before he was cleared from being a Death Eater."

I flinch, and Severus notices. His stare turns to curious. I look away from him and study the other occupants in my kitchen.

"And how is that possible, by the way?" Says another familiar voice. Emmeline Vance. Hmm. How could I describe her? I mean, I know her from school. Rather well, might I add. Let's just say that there was a short period in our fifth year where we got to know each other  _very well_ in the confines of various broom closets.

I turn to look at her with an amused look. "Whatever do you mean by that?" I drawl, and her gaze hardens.

"How does one turn his back to Voldemort and live to tell about it?" She asks harshly. I swallow but hold her gaze. "I mean, it didn't work for Snape here either." She continues, glancing carefully at Severus.

I lift my brows in comprehension. So Severus is a spy. Of course. But to which side he really is loyal to? I hear my brother scoff and see him glare at Severus, and I realise he has been in the same room with my former Slytherin house-mate for over a half an hour, and behaved himself, at least until now.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Gentlemen. Ladies. As I said, I have spoken with Mr. Black, and I have searched through his mind to make sure he is what he says. The most important thing is that we do not speak about his existence, since Voldemort could use this for his favour. We do not know the exact detail how Mr. Black has managed to travel to this time, but I assure you, the little information we know is best to be kept in secret." Dumbledore says, and everyone looks at him with a hint of wariness and doubt in their expressions.

I hope the children received a good scolding for what they've done. Reading aloud a ritual that practically oozes of dark magic. Even though I'm grateful that they did it, there could've been far worse consequences. I mean, it is my family we're talking about. The Blacks don't exactly think about rainbows and sunshine.

"I also want to point out, that Mr. Black is participating this meeting because he shares our goal. Destroying Voldemort." Dumbledore continues and gives me a meaningful look over his half-moon spectacles.

Bloody brilliant. It seems that there is no way for me to stay indifferent in this war, even if I wasn't keeping safe a crucial part of the plan to finish the Dark Lord.

There's more murmur, but no one questions me further. They go through the recent Death Eater sightings, unusual occurrences, missing people. And I listen closely. It seems like we're in the same situation we were when I took the mark.

In the beginning.


	5. Symmetry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here again! Oh, and I know Harry's hearing in the book was Thursday Aug 12th, but since it is not accurate (as Aug 12th 1995 is actually Saturday), the day in this fic is changed into a weekday: Friday, Aug 11th 1995.

 

**Chapter 5: Symmetry**

**Grimmauld Place, August 3rd 1995**

After the Order meeting, I follow Dumbledore into our library. He presents me a wand, and I lift my brows in surprise. The old man has kept himself busy.

"Mr. Ollivander suggested that this would be best suited for you." He says.

I'm feeling slightly baffled and frown at him. Weren't we supposed to keep my existence hidden? I mean, it is already bad enough that a roomful of Order members know about me.

Dumbledore smiles. "He assured me that everything we discussed would stay between us."

I nod slowly and take the wand from his outstretched palm. I can feel my magic thrumming through the piece of wood. I inspect it carefully. It's nothing like the one I used to own. I can feel the wand trying to resist my magic.

"Cherry wood with Dragon Heartstring. Eleven inches, fairly resilient," He says, and I lift my eyes to meet his. "Cherry wands may possess a truly lethal power, especially when paired with Dragon Heartstring. It is said that that kind of a wand should be never owned by a wizard without an exceptional self-control and strength of mind." Dumbledore says as he studies me. I move my gaze back to the reddish-brown wand between my fingers, feeling how it tries to faintly fight back before eventually settling, accepting me.

"Why don't you try it?" Dumbledore says gently, watching me expectantly.

I give the wand a wave and transfigure one of the reading lights on the side table into a bird. It's not entirely flawless or fluid, but I can still feel a wave of satisfaction flow through me.

Dumbledore looks impressed. "Seems to work nicely enough," He says lightly.

I clear my throat. "Yes. Thank you."

His eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles as he assesses me. "A wand is nothing without a wizard, while a wizard can do all things without a wand," he says simply.

I stare at him silently, feeling rather uncomfortable after keeping my mind closed for so many hours.

"Well, I'm afraid I must be going now. I'll be in touch," he says after a short silence and nods before he leaves.

An hour later I'm still in the library, alone, practicing spells and relishing the fact that I finally have a wand – I mean really, it's like I've been without an arm for the past couple of days – when the girl, Potter's friend, walks in.

"Oh! Sorry, Mr. Black, I, um…Didn't realise someone would be here." She stammers.

I stare at her. She's biting her lip, and her eyes are widened slightly. I give her a shrug. "I'm not that surprised." I say wryly, but when she doesn't get my sarcasm, I clear my throat. "I mean, have you met my brother? He doesn't exactly spend his leisure time in a library…" I say, a small smirk playing on my lips, and she lets out a nervous laugh.

"Do you mind if I browse your library? Or, um…Do you want some privacy? I can come back later…" She says unsurely.

I gesture towards the long shelves in the vast room. "By all means," I say, and she gives me a small smile and a nod before she rushes towards one of the shelves on the back wall.

I resume my seat on the sofa and continue testing my new wand. Charms seem to work properly, but I still have a bit of trouble with Transfiguration.

Some time later I hear muttering from the opposite side of the room. I glance up and see the girl, leaning against a shelf, a book open in her palm and her eyes glued to the text. I take a moment to appraise her looks. I'm a guy, after all. I assume that she – and the rest of the teenagers – aren't that much younger than me, probably in their last years of school.

She's wearing tight jeans and a loose, long sleeved shirt. Her hair – a mess of tangled curls to be exact – is drawn up into a loose bun. I amuse myself for a moment by thinking what she would look like without that shirt. What would her hair look like, fanned out on my pillow? She seems to feel my stare and glances up. She blushes slightly and clears her throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. I shift my gaze away and concentrate on Transfigurations.

"If you lessen the pressure of the motion, the spell will be more powerful," She quips from where she stands.

What? I turn to look at her and arch a brow. Apparently, she has been staring at me as well.

"I'll manage," I say, a bit stiffly. A schoolgirl tries to tell me how to perform spells? Really?

"Oh, sorry…I just meant that…um…I didn't mean to offend you," She says and looks embarrassed.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "You didn't. Now what did you mean?" I can't believe I'm letting her teach me, but I'm also intrigued to find out if she's right.

She walks towards me and after a hint of hesitation, sits next to me. "Erm…May I show you?" She asks nervously, and I nod, studying her features.

She waves her hand in the air, copying the wand motion of the charm I'm practicing. She could perform magic around me and inside this house, since it is full of adult wizards and witches, but she apparently won't take any risks. I stare at her long, graceful fingers move and examine her slender figure again, my eyes running over the sharp angles of her jaw and her full lips as she babbles something about wand movement and intention. I watch carefully when she smiles, and I feel…well, not like thought I would. I assume it has something to do with her being a schoolgirl, or just…not being my type.

"Reggie, you in here?" The library door opens, and my brother walks in. He's staring us with surprise before his lips curve slightly and he walks towards where we sit.

"Oh, hello, Hermione," Sirius drawls, and I can see his eyes flash with mirth.

The girl – Hermione – narrows her eyes at my brother as she stands up. "Sirius," she says tightly. She turns to look at me with a small frown. "It was nice to talk with you, Mr. Black." She says, and I hear my brother snort quietly. What a wanker.

"It's Regulus," I say politely, and the girl nods before she walks away from me and pushes past my brother, exiting the library.

" _Mr. Black,_ " my brother says with a mocking voice. "May I join you?"

I roll my eyes at him and gesture at the empty seats around me. "What did you do to piss her off?" I ask indifferently as Sirius plops down in an armchair facing me.

He chuckles. "Nothing," He says innocently.

I know this act. And I know when women are angry with him. He's sort of an expert in it. I arch a brow and give him a bored look.

He shrugs. "Well, I might've yelled at Kreacher a bit. And she possibly saw it."

I scowl at him. "Why would you yell at my Elf?" I ask with frustration.

Sirius grins. "Why wouldn't I? You  _do_  remember how he just loves my character?"

The resentment I'm feeling dissolves with his words. Of course I remember. How mother made Kreacher treat Sirius poorly. How she forbade the Elf to bring him food or water when my brother was grounded and locked up into his room. But I know Kreacher only did what its mistress told it to.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Please ignore Kreacher from now on, okay? Don't yell at it, don't mistreat it, and for the love of Salazar, do not beat it up!" I say exasperatedly.

Sirius lets out a weary sigh. "I make no promises," he says darkly and summons a flask from somewhere. And he's drinking again...Brilliant. I sigh inwardly and stare at the bottle with dislike.

"So?" I prod him. "The girl?"

My brother barks a laugh. "She's worried about Kreacher's living conditions. Apparently, she has this whole cause dedicated to the poor creatures, to champion their rights in the Wizarding world…" He says and then smirks mischievously. "She's a feisty little thing, you know?"

Oh, Merlin…That does not predict anything good. I know how my brother was, of course, when we both were in school, which was a couple of years ago for me. But many, many years for him. And he hasn't changed a bit. "You can't be serious," I huff, and I instantly regret my choice of words.

He grins. "But I  _am_  Sirius." He winks at me, and you know, even if I've spent my entire life hearing those fucking ridiculous words, they still make my lips quirk up with amusement.

I clear my throat and school my expression. "But…You know she's like…your godson's girlfriend?" I ask incredulously.

"No, I think they're just friends," He says indifferently.

"Nevertheless…She's still a  _child_ …" I remind him with a reproaching voice. Since when did my brother become this creepy old man? Although, I suppose he always was a bit disgusting with his various liaisons.

My brother's eyes widen comically, and he bursts in laughter. "Merlin, no! Eww, Reggie," He says and looks slightly appalled. "What I meant is that I saw how you were making eyes at her," He chuckles and waggles his brows at me.

Oh. I mean, of course I checked her out, but that doesn't mean I want anything more to do with her. I don't really know what to say to my brother, so I decide not to continue our discussion about the witch and instead change the topic into something else entirely. "Are our parents buried in the Black family crypt?" I ask, and my brother's hand stills in mid swig. He slowly puts the flask on the table between us, clenching his jaw. The Blacks have a crypt in Highgate, North London, where all our family members – except the ones disowned – are buried. And I doubt my brother has been there after he ran away from home.

"I assume they are." He grits out, staring darkly at the table.

I get that talking about them is difficult for him. I mean, it is for me, but for different reasons. He obviously hated them, and our parents didn't exactly hide their dislike for Sirius either. But I still suspect a small part of him feels bad for not being there when they died.

"I'm going there," I say, a bit defensively, since I expect him to stop me.

He stares at me for a bit and gives a curt nod. "I'll go with you." He says, and my brows lift in surprise.

"Okay." I say slowly.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, August 5th 1995**

I wake up to particularly disturbing noises. Fuck, my head is pounding. What happened to me? Why does it sound like a herd of Centaurs is stomping up and down the stairs?

I blink slowly, and peer through half-closed eyes. I'm in my room, thank Merlin. I assume it is morning, since the sun peaks through the drawn curtains. Well, at least I have drawn them closed last night. Last night… I try to remember it, and a scatter of images flood into my mind. I went to see my parents' graves with Sirius, and then afterwards…we got pissed in father's study. I moan with nausea as I remember the several shots of alcohol I downed, and my stomach churns nastily. I'm gonna be sick.

I moan again.

"Reggie. If you're gonna chunder, I suggest you take it to the bathroom," My brother mutters from somewhere close.

I curse and leap to my feet from the bed and run towards the bathroom, almost stumbling on Sirius – who for some reason is sleeping on the floor next to my bed – as I go. Thank Merlin I get into the bathroom in time and empty my stomach successfully into the porcelain bowl. After a few minutes of unpleasantness, I wash my face and return to my bedroom, swaying as I go. My brother is chuckling quietly on the floor. I kick him on the side as I walk past him and slide back between my sheets.

"Ouch, fuck, Reggie…" He groans, and I can hear him shifting on the floor. "Feel better?" He asks innocently.

"Bugger off." I mumble back. I can feel the pounding in my head getting worse. "What did you do to me? I feel like shit."

Sirius sniggers. "Oh, brother. This was all you. You insisted on mixing up vodka and Firewhiskey," he says with delight in his voice.

I groan again. "Please stop talking."

He barks a laugh. "Well, as nice as it was to stay with you, I'm gonna head to my own bed and try to catch some much-needed sleep," he says and as I open my eyes to look at him, I see him standing up and making his way towards the door.

"Thank Merlin." I mutter dryly, but then something nags at me. "Why didn't you go there in the first place?" I ask, and for some reason I'm not sure if I want to hear his answer.

My brother clears his throat, his hand stilled on the doorknob, his shoulders tense.

"You didn't want me to." He says quietly, not turning to look at me.

Bloody fuck. I knew I shouldn't have asked that. Images of me asking him – no, pleading him – to stay with me, images where I tell my brother how scared I am, how lonely I am, drift into my mind. I groan inwardly. I'm so fucking embarrassed right now.

I stay quiet, and he eventually speaks. "I'll see you later, Reggie." He says softly and exits my room.

"Fuck," I mutter and press my face against my pillow.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, August 11th 1995**

Days go quickly by, and I've spent my days in the library, occasionally sleeping through the nights there as well since I hate to let my guard down for the locket and its dark magic. And I can't really place it anywhere else, not when the house is swarming with people.

After Dumbledore questioned me and supposedly presumed I was trustworthy, I decided it was time to start researching the methods to destroy the Horcrux. Even though I did make some groundwork before I went to a quest to find the locket, unfortunately, I do not have a way to get rid of it. What I do know, is that a Horcrux must be put beyond the power of magical reconstitution, destroyed beyond magical repair.

I already knew that Salazar Slytherin's locket itself bears some ancient powers, and when enhanced with Horcrux magic – which basically is a portion of the Dark Lord's power – I assume I'm up against a powerful and unpredictable artefact.

I have formed a list of curses I'd like to try against the locket, and since I can't exactly try them inside this house, I now need to find an appropriate place to practice them. It doesn't help matters that my brother and Lupin are keeping a careful eye on me, and it is undoubtedly impossible to leave this place unnoticed after our little outing to the graveyard. Destroying the Horcrux is necessary, but I can't really tell anyone about it. After weighing my options, I concluded that once the teenagers go back to Hogwarts, this place will quiet down a bit, and then I might have my chance to slip out without anyone noticing.

It is now Friday evening, and the place is abnormally quiet. Usually the teenagers and the adults are traipsing up and down the stairs, making insufferable noises, or I hear my mother screaming downstairs. But I hear nothing now. I vaguely remember that Potter's hearing was earlier today, and then I realise that everyone must have gathered in the basement. I'm not really upset that no one asked me to join them, but I am slightly interested to know what happened in the Ministry. Have they really expelled the boy? The Boy Who Lived. At least, that's what some people call him. I roll my eyes. What a fucking ridiculous name. But at the same time, I can't deny that it is quite incredible that an infant has somehow managed to defeat the greatest dark wizard I've ever known.

My brother of course told me all kinds of things about his past during our visit in father's study last week after the graveyard. While part of the night is still kind of hazy to me, I remember talking with my brother about his godson and his godson's parents. I sort of pity him. The boy. The expectations, the attention, the loneliness…It must have been difficult for him.

I need a break. I haven't found anything useful today, and I know there is still more than a handful of books scattered around the library that could contain something regarding Horcruxes. What can I say – our family has their share of dark and obscure books. With a sigh I flick my wand to clean up the small pile of books and notes and decide to stop by the terrace downstairs for a bit of a fresh air. The backyard and garden are not enormous, but they're safe from prying eyes and ears.

As I slip outside and close the door behind me, careful not to make any noise to disturb mother's portrait, I almost suffer a heart failure.

"FUCK!" I wheeze, startled, when I see the other person occupying the terrace. It's Potter.

He glances up to me, the remains of a scowl edged on his face. I realise something must be bothering him, but I don't like the way he stares at me. He doesn't say anything, and only shifts his gaze back to the sky. The sun is setting, and as he looks at the rays of light in different colours of red, yellow and orange, I look at him. He's sitting on the terrace, pulling his knees against his chest with his arms draped around them. His jaw is placed on the top of his knees and his face tilted slightly upwards. I stare at his profile, and even though there is a significant resemblance between him and his father, there are some differences. His much slenderer figure, and the shorter nose for example. Although the untidy black mop of hair seems to be quite the same.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, and I try to make up my mind if I want to stay or to leave.

He shrugs. "Needed some peace and quiet, I guess." He says quietly and turns to look at me. "You?"

"The same, I suppose." I say and glance around me. The place is empty of furniture, so I conjure a couple of garden chairs and sit on the other one. Potter eyes the vacant chair hesitantly, before he clears his throat and stands up.

"Cheers," He mutters and sits down on the chair next to me.

We stay silent for a while, both staring into the distance before he breaks it and speaks. "So…what's up with you?" He asks stiffly, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

I huff at him. "With  _me_?" I ask and give him a pointed look before I continue, "What do you think? You do realise what happened to me is rather abnormal, right?" I say flatly.

What is with that kid? I mean, is he oblivious, or something? His lack of discreetness is as appalling as his unkempt mane of hair is.

Potter arches a brow. "Well…I know everything about abnormal," He says with a thin smile.

I lift my brows quickly in recognition. "Yeah, so I've heard," I mutter. My brother told me about the various situations where the boy has played a hero and found himself in a danger, either put there by himself of by others. I want to ask what it was like, meeting the Dark Lord and seeing him resurrected, but I don't.

"I heard you killed a Basilisk." I say instead.

His mouth curves up a bit. I find the look on his face irritating. "Yeah, I did. It was a couple of years ago." He says simply.

I want to sneer at the smug kid. Okay, so perhaps he doesn't look that self-satisfied as my mind makes me see. But still. A couple of years ago? He's a child. I tell him so, and he laughs.

"I'm fifteen." He says a bit defiantly. "But yeah, I was twelve then. So…I  _was_  a child," He says and smirks at me when he sees me rolling my eyes.

"How did that even go? Don't tell me you just  _happened_  to run into it?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm.

He sighs and rubs his neck awkwardly. "It was Voldemort, actually." He says, and I feel myself tensing from the name. He notices, and his gaze shifts to my left forearm. He stares at the place he knows where my mark is, hidden under my robes, and I can see a shadow of disgust in his expression. I stay still and study him carefully.

"Voldemort possessed a friend of mine with his old diary, opened the Chamber of Secrets in Hogwarts with her help and unleashed a Basilisk to prey on Muggleborns." He says a bit absently, his eyes still glued to my arm.

"Luckily no one died, and I managed to get into the chamber and finish the creature with the help of Dumbledore's Phoenix bird." He says, his gaze flickering to my face.

The whole thing just sounds so fucking absurd and unbelievable, that I can't help but shake my head in mild disbelief. "Where was Dumbledore? I find it rather implausible that he would have sent you to kill a fucking Basilisk with only the help of his bird," I say and give him a dubious look.

His cheeks redden slightly. "Dumbledore was asked to step down as a Headmaster by the School Governors. There had been many attacks towards Muggleborns, and even though everyone was only petrified by the snake, they apparently still felt it was the right thing to do," He says with an irritated look.

I get the feeling he doesn't want to continue talking about it, so I only give him a curt nod.

We stay silent for another while, and the sun is slowly creeping down behind the garden and other buildings around us.

"So…How did the thing go? You suddenly in a need of a hiding place?" I ask lightly. As if the wizarding world could do that to the  _boy who lived_ , I think bitterly.

He smiles. "Oh, it was…okay, I guess. I can go back to Hogwarts." He says with reserve in his voice.

I arch a brow at him. "I can see you screaming with delight," I say dryly.

He sighs. "Yeah, I'm relieved, but…It was a close call. They apparently hate me in the Ministry…" He says and grimaces a bit.

I stare at him intently. I've read some of the Prophets from the past months. I'm surprised the Ministry is not taking seriously anything the boy has said about the Dark Lord's resurrection, and even more so as I've read how they write about Potter and Dumbledore in the paper. In short, the Ministry is in denial.

I'm also a bit taken aback how easy it is to talk with my brother's godson. I mean, the thought seems so fucking strange. But in reality, he's only three years younger than me. Don't get me wrong, he's still annoying, whinging brat who evidently doubts my every move. He loathes Death Eaters, former or not, that's certain. The look in his eyes says it all.

I clear my throat. "Why did they let you go then?" I ask.

Potter clenches his jaw. "Dumbledore testified." He says tightly. Something about the Headmaster is evidently rubbing him up the wrong way.

"Or…perhaps it was your status as  _the Boy Who Lived_  that prevented them from throwing you into Azkaban." I say wryly.

He groans and shakes his head in frustration. We stay outside and chat for a while until the sun has set and its dark outside.

"I should go," Potter mutters eventually and stands up. He stretches his back and I find myself staring at him.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, you should." I say tightly, eager to get rid of him.

Potter's brow furrows slightly before he leaves without another word.

I stay put and stare into the distance. Even though it was rather tolerable talking with him, most of the time I can't help but feel irritated by his presence. It's all very confusing. After a while, I stand up from my chair and head towards my room for the rest of the night.


	6. Fire Meet Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all have enjoyed the holidays.  
> Here's the next chapter, let me know what you think! Oh, and Sirius's lines in Sirius-Harry floo-call are almost entirely from OotP.

 

**Chapter 6: Fire Meet Gasoline**

**Grimmauld Place, September 1st 1995**

A month has gone quickly, and now the house feels empty. The teenagers have left towards Hogwarts this morning, and the Weasleys have moved back to their home. It is finally quiet in Grimmauld Place.

Even though I've tried to stay away from everyone for the past month, I haven't really managed to avoid entirely the collection of other inhabitants and the various people who have gathered for the Order meetings or simply for dinner. While I haven't seen Severus since the meeting in the beginning of last month, I have been acquainted with Weasleys' eldest son William and my cousin Nymphadora, who have both visited Grimmauld place almost every day.

Not every member of the Order has been eager to engage into a conversation with me as some have. Perhaps they remember who I was. My thoughts are interrupted as my cousin Nymphadora steps into the library where I am researching.

"Here's my favourite cousin!" She calls. I turn to look at her direction and see my brother and the werewolf following her. So much for the peace and quiet.

"Hey!" My brother says and stops in midstride. "I thought  _I_ was your favourite cousin?" He says to Nymphadora with a mock hurt look on his face.

The werewolf rolls his eyes while Nymphadora shrugs innocently and walks towards me, snatches the book from my hands and plops down next to me on the sofa.

"What are you reading?" She asks as she props her feet on the table and starts to browse the book while I grit my teeth together. "Oh, Merlin this looks boring." She mutters.

"And how are you today, dear  _Nymphadora_?" I ask snidely, with every intention to annoy her since she has the audacity to interrupt my tranquillity.

Sirius chuckles as he and Lupin sit down on the armchairs opposite us.

Nymphadora sends a scowl at me, but eventually her lips turn into a sly smile as she hands my book back. "Just came to see if you're up for a little duel," She says mischievously.

"What?" I ask with confusion.

"You do know what a duel is,  _little_  brother?" Sirius quips with a knowing smile and my nostrils flare. I've always been younger than him, sure, but now even more so. And he doesn't hesitate to remind me about that little detail.

"Belt up," I say to him and give him a bored look, even though the suggestion of a duel sounds intriguing.

Nymphadora eyes our banter with amusement. "So?" She says and nudges me. "You up for it? Sirius's been boasting about finishing you off all morning," She says with a devious smirk. I know she's trying to bait me into it. How in the hell was that woman not in Slytherin?

I arch a brow at my brother. "Not bloody likely." I say with a scoff.

"Oh, come on, brother. It's just a small, friendly sporting competition," My brother says with a huge grin. "You have to practice with your new wand," He says shrewdly.

I roll my eyes. "I can practice fine on my own," I mutter, and my brother looks contemplative.

"Okay. I mean, I understand if you feel intimidated to duel me. I  _have_  several years on you," He says slyly, probably knowing already that I'll cave in. It's not like I'd let my brother go on with thinking that he could best me in a wizard's duel.

"Fine." I grumble and put my book on the table. Nymphadora and Sirius exchange knowing smirks. Brilliant. I've been tricked by a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff.

* * *

" _Stupefy!_ " My brother yells, and I dodge his spell with ease. I respond with a Full Body-Bind Curse and follow it up with a Knockback Jinx. Sirius deflects the first and dodges the other, all the while sending a trip jinx at me, followed by a stinging hex.

"Fuck!" I hiss as I take both spells and stumble, but manage to keep my footing and avoid his next hex. I have to give it to him – he's fast.

Sirius barks a laugh. "Oh, brother. You didn't think I'd forget how you play?" He asks tauntingly.

The git. I send a couple of mild hexes towards him while I adjust my stance and think about my next move.

We're still in the library, as it is the most spacious room in our house. We've made enough room on the floor and warded the bookshelves and furniture. No need to make a mess. Needless to say, we've done this before, when we were younger. Before my brother ran away from home.

Lupin and Nymphadora watch our duel with a mix of amusement and interest. My brother and I continue sending hexes, jinxes and mild curses towards each other while deflecting and dodging what the other sends forward.

A half an hour later we're both sweating, exhausted, and slower in our moves. I manage to hit Sirius with a spell I've been wanting to test and for a moment, my brother is staring at me in confusion until he begins to shift in front of me.

Lupin and Nymphadora both snort as they realise what is happening, while I eye the black dog in front of me a bit smugly. I flick my wand and retrieve my brother's wand from the floor. "Now who's finished who off?" I ask with a self-satisfied smile.

My smile falters as the dog starts to approach me slowly, carefully, its grey eyes glinting threateningly. The dog bares its teeth and lets out a low growl.

"Sirius?" I ask hesitantly and take a step back. "You can shift back now." I say, and the dog growls again. I'm beginning to feel a bit nervous. He is still my brother, right? He understands what I'm saying, right? I mean, I haven't really faced him like this before. I only learned about him being an animagus a couple of weeks ago, but didn't really confront him about it. And now I'm starting to regret that…Fuck!

I take another step back, and then the dog charges towards me. I scream – because, hell, I fucking bear-like dog is attacking me and I don't know if it's going to eat me slowly or just kill me – and I don't even have time to repel it with a spell before the dog has knocked me on the floor and my wrist is between its sharp teeth. The dog sits on the top of my chest and growls.

"Sirius," I groan under the dog's heavy weight and grab it by the scruff of its neck with my other hand. "Let go of me," I pant with a warning tone.

The dog narrows its eyes at me, its jaws tightening around my wrist, and lets out another growl. My wrist stings like hell. And then I know my brother understands me. I know what he wants me to say.

"Ouch! Fuck," I wheeze. "Fine. You win, you fucking arsehole," I grit between my teeth, and instantly the dog lets go and swifts back to my brother.

"Oh, thanks Reggie," Sirius says and grins at me, still sitting on top of me while he takes his wand from my hand.

I shove him hard. "Now get the fuck away from me," I hiss at him, and he finally stands up, laughing, and holds out his hand for me.

I narrow my eyes at him but stand up with his help. Nymphadora and Lupin are shaking with laughter, and I send an angry glare towards them.

"I can't even begin to understand how you think of that as a win," I grumble as I go to the sofa and sit down, feeling quite exhausted.

Sirius barks a laugh and comes to sit next to me. He puts his arm over my shoulder and pulls me closer. "Aww, Reggie, I love it when you're all angry and broody. Not to even mention how I've missed your girlish screaming."

I wrench myself away from his grasp. "Fuck off." I mutter, and Sirius merely grins at me.

"Okay, if you children have had enough fun, I'd like to have a round with this handsome man in here," Nymphadora says and winks at Lupin. The werewolf seems a bit uncomfortable, and I notice my brother stare at his friend with a knowing smirk.

"Um. Sure, why not." Lupin mutters and they take their places in the middle of the room.

They duel for a while, and I have to say, the werewolf is clearly better but for some reason he doesn't put enough effort into the duel. It seems that he's going to let my cousin win. I assume there's something going between them, or, well, perhaps the guy is just a wimp. My cousin eventually wins and narrows her eyes at Lupin, probably knowing he's been terrible in purpose.

We eat dinner together and then Nymphadora and Lupin are off into a mission, to follow a lead they have on one of the suspected Death Eaters.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, September 7th 1995**

I wake up with a jolt, feeling quite overwrought. "Ah, shit," I gasp, as every muscle in my body twinges with sharp pain. It feels like someone is trying to slice my left arm in half. What the hell has happened to me?

And then I remember. The Horcrux. A collection of memories come into my mind. An apparition into a forest in the countryside. Dark curses soaring in the air, all repelled by the locket. The whispering in my head and the burning of my flesh. Well, it clearly was a fruitless trip. If Kreacher hadn't come there to take me home, it could've been disastrous.

I groan as it still hurts, but I lay still and open my eyes instead.

"Take it easy, Reggie," Sirius murmurs next to me, an anxious look on his face. He's sitting in a chair next to my bed where I'm currently situated, chewing the fingernails of his right hand while his eyes are studying me carefully. I glance towards the windows – it's dark outside, and I have no idea how long I have been unconscious.

"What day is it?" I grunt and close my eyes briefly when I can feel a headache slowly building up. "What happened? I need a Pain Relief Potion," I mutter, trying to ignore the soon to be raging headache and the aching in my body, in my arm, more closely.

I can feel a wave of a diagnostic charm float over me and I give my left arm – which is resting on top of the blanket – a small glance. The mark is visible, but it looks like nothing I've seen before. The skin surrounding the Mark is burned severely, and it looks like it will take a lot of time and effort to heal it. Apparently the Horcrux recognises a Mark of the Dark Lord. Or the other way around. A slight miscalculation on my part.

Sirius glares at me. "You tell me, brother," He says sharply and nods pointedly at my arm before he flicks his wand and summons a vial of something. "I mean, you take off without telling me and then come back barely breathing, covered in blood and mud," Sirius continues angrily. "What the hell were you up to, Reggie? What happened?"

"No idea," I say quietly and look away. I want to pull my arm away from his scrutinising stare, under the covers, but I can't move a muscle.

Sirius lets out a frustrated sigh and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Knew you'd say that…" He says with a bitter tone. He tosses the vial on the bed, close to my injured arm. "Pain Relief. You'll live, brother," He says dryly.

My lips quirk up involuntarily, but the amusement I feel fades when I reach for the vial. I grit my teeth and try to move only the other half of my body, since it doesn't feel like someone is carving my skin with a blunt knife. It feels only slightly less horrible. I let out a loud huff of breath, laced with swearwords and finally manage to crab the vial.

Sirius eyes my ministrations with interest. "Need a hand?" He asks simply, and I want to throw something at him.

"Wanker," I grunt when I manage to uncork the vial and toss it down. I wait a few minutes and we're both silent. My headache dissolves but the pain in my arm seems more intense. I'm breathing heavily now, trying to ease the pain by staying calm, trying to mentally push the pain away.

"Why the fuck isn't it working?" I hiss at my brother.

Sirius frowns, seeming slightly worried. "It should…" he says, evidently trying to figure out what to do. "Perhaps Dumbledore could – "

"No." I grit through my teeth and give him a hard look. The last thing I want is to get my old Headmaster involved, to ask me questions I cannot answer. If Dumbledore is not yet aware of what I've been up to, then I'd like to keep it that way. "I wouldn't want to bother him. Besides, I assume the pain will ease once my arm is healed," I say resignedly and close my eyes for a bit. It fucking hurts.

My brother gives me a suspicious look. "Reggie…Either you tell me now what you were doing, or I'll floo him," he says steadily, a satisfied glint in his eyes, supposedly knowing I have no choice if I want to keep Dumbledore out of this.

Even if he seems like a carefree drunk at times, apparently, he can still pull the Black arrogance and perseverance when necessary.

I let out a weary sigh. "I was trying to get rid of it," I say stiffly, glancing at my arm, the mark and the blackened skin surrounding it.

Sirius blinks a few times, staring at me with a scrutinising look, evidently trying to decide if I am lying or not. He knows me so well, but I suppose the damage in my arm makes him believe me when he eventually nods and casts his eyes down, to my relief. It is too dangerous for him to know. For anyone to know.

Sirius clears his throat. "Yeah, you're right. About healing your arm," he says a bit uncomfortably and takes a small jar from my bedside table. He's looking unsure.

"What is it?" I grit out, my body shuddering slightly from the pain I'm experiencing.

Sirius cringes. "This ought to help. But it will hurt like a son of a bitch," He says and eyes me closely.

"Give it," I grunt and hold my hand for him – the one not burning with searing agony.

He doesn't give me the jar, but instead gives me a grave look. "Hold on," he says tightly.

When his fingers touch the marred skin of my arm, I let out a gut-wrenching scream. My breath is stolen from my lungs as the pain fills every corner of my body and mind. My body tremors but I will myself to stay still while my brother quickly applies the healing salve to my arm. To be honest, I can't really pay attention to him, other than to hope that every second of the torture will be the last.

Finally, he leans back and lets out a puff of breath, and the last thing I can see is concern edged into his face before I slip into unconsciousness again.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, September 9th 1995**

The next day I'm feeling considerably better and I'm grateful that my brother hasn't contacted anyone. He asks me about the night before, why did do it, but I tell him to mind his own business. Grudgingly, he lets me be and orders Kreacher to take care of me.

On Saturday morning, I drag myself downstairs, bleary eyed after a rather sleepless night. I haven't still fully recovered but I'm getting there. I need to keep going, and I need to get out of my room.

Lupin and Nymphadora haven't been here after the first of September, and apart from my slight accident two days prior, I haven't really seen Sirius as he tends to sleep the days and stay up at nights. I suppose he feels bitter since his friends are away, doing something for the Order while he's staying in the background, watching everyone but not able to participate.

I open the door to the kitchen, and I'm quite taken aback when I see my brother there. I mean, it's not ten yet, and he's there, wide awake, sipping coffee and making breakfast. Which is quite unexpected.

"Um. Morning," I mumble and stand in place, wondering where Kreacher is.

He turns to look me and flashes a quick grin. "Well, good morning, Reggie. Coffee?" He asks, and hands me a cup. I murmur my thanks and sit down with my coffee while he goes back to his ministrations.

Sirius is still at the stove, flicking his wand over the pots and pans, dressed only in his pyjama bottoms. I clear my throat. "Why are you here? Where's Kreacher?" I ask, and my eyes are stuck into his bare back, which is covered with scars and tattoos.

He shrugs. "Sent him into an errand. And why wouldn't I be? It is my home." He says indifferently as if he's been here every morning. He levitates the food to the table while sitting across me.

"Okay then. Care to put on some clothes?" I ask and look at his bare chest pointedly. More tattoos, more scars. They're slightly unnerving.

He arches a brow. "Nope," he simply says, and inspects a parchment he's picked up from the table.

I sigh inwardly. "What's that?" I ask as I sip my coffee. I wonder if someone from the Order has written to him. I'm slightly interested to hear what's happening in the outside world, since the Daily Prophet Sirius has subscribed to cannot exactly be trusted.

"A letter." Sirius says absently, not looking at me.

I roll my eyes. "I'm aware. Who's it from?" I patiently ask. God, my brother can be annoying, even as an adult.

He sets the letter down, his brows turned into a frown. "From Harry…" He mutters and rubs his temple. "His scar's been hurting again…" he says and I stare back in bewilderment.

"His what?" I ask, annoyed at his vagueness.

He finally looks at me and clears his throat. "The scar on his forehead, the one Voldemort gave him when he tried to kill Harry," He says darkly, and I vaguely remember having seen a glimpse of it.

I nod, my mind whirling. "So…he's connected to the Dark Lord?" I ask, and Sirius blanches.

"What?" He asks sharply. "Why would you say that?" He demands.

I shrug. "Just a thought." Which, based on the look on my brother's face, is correct.

Sirius looks contemplative. He shakes his head slowly. "They are connected. Dumbledore is not sure how deeply, but even Harry knows there's some sort of connection. His scar has hurt before and he's seen some visions, about Voldemort's doings, and…" He trails off, letting out frustrated sigh. "I just…I don't know what to do," He says harshly, looking a bit lost.

I get that my brother is worried about Potter. I mean, the boy hasn't exactly had it easy. Not only does Potter share a connection with the Dark Lord but he has also fought against the man, duelled him in front of a dozen Death Eaters, before even reaching the age of fifteen. But I'm only now realising how much Sirius cares for him.

I try to wrap my head around the whole situation, the link between Potter and the Dark Lord, the possibilities and the threats it could entail. "I don't know what to say, brother. Is it only hurting now or is he seeing something? Are Potter's visions even trustworthy? If there's a connection between him and the Dark Lord, who's to say his mind is not being altered or controlled?" I ask after a thoughtful silence. If that would be the case, then we'd all be screwed. If the Dark Lord controls Potter, he could finish us off quickly, seeing as Potter has lived in the Headquarters of the Order, and heard at least some of the confidential information.

Sirius shakes his head. "I dunno…" He says and stares into distance.

"Well, you can't really owl him back, you know? If the Ministry is in denial, and the Ministry Witch is there to make sure Dumbledore doesn't go campaigning about the resurrection of the Dark Lord, we can assume they are scanning the letters in and out of the school," I say pointedly. "Perhaps you should inform someone in the Order?" I ask and take a piece of toast from the plate my brother has brought to the table.

Sirius's eyes widen slightly as he looks at me. "You're right, Reggie! I can't owl him, but I can floo him!" He says excitedly, leaping out of his seat.

Didn't he hear anything I just said?

"Brother," I try to caution him, but he only hurries away from the kitchen, not paying attention to me.

"Fuck." I say and try to assess the situation. A notorious mass murderer and an escaped convict flooing Hogwarts in the middle of the day? A slightly unnerving plan, I'd say.

"Sirius!" I yell and dash after him.

* * *

Later that night I sit in our drawing room sofa, absently reading a book while my brother is crouching on the rug in front of the fireplace and keeps popping his head into the flames, flooing Hogwarts.

I shake my head in bewilderment. That fucking idiot is going to get caught soon.

As if knowing what I'm thinking my brother turns back to look at me over his shoulder. "I'm only checking the common room for a couple of seconds each time. No one is going to see me," he says with an insisting voice.

I roll my eyes and turn a page. "Wouldn't be so sure of that…" I mutter.

Sirius huffs and after a while, he tries flooing again.

"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," Sirius suddenly speaks, his head in the flames.

So…he's probably managed to catch Potter alone in the Gryffindor tower.

"I've been checking every hour." Sirius continues after a moment.

I can't hear anything from the other side, but I see my brother listening intently and then speaking with an amused voice, "Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear."

Yes, well. That is a way to spend one's day.

There's another short silence before my brother speaks, "Well, I think a girl - first-year, by the look of her - might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry," he says hastily, "I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly-shaped log or something." He says and chuckles.

"You sound like Molly," my brother says with a hint of annoyance. "This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code - and codes are breakable," He says matter-of-factly.

Oh, so Potter's not alone in the other end. I assume the redhead and the Muggleborn witch are with him. The discussion in the fireplace continues.

"No, it was very good," my brother says, and I can hear a smile in his voice. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed - your scar," He says more seriously, and I listen attentively. I'm curious to learn more about the connection between Potter and the Dark Lord.

"Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?" Sirius says, and I stare at him incredulously. Sirius had contacted Lupin about the scar right after breakfast, and even though they were both suspecting something, my brother had apparently decided not to alarm the boy by his thoughts.

"Well, now that he's back it's bound to hurt more often," my brother says softly.

"I doubt it," Sirius continues after a short silence, and I can see him grimacing into the flames. "I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater –"

I wonder whom are they talking about? The Ministry hag?

Sirius lets out a sigh and frowns into the flames. "Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," he says prudently. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her," he says, and I can hear the bitterness in his voice.

"No," Sirius says into the flames, "but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job."

Yep, talking about the Ministry hag. I've heard my brother and some members of the Order rant about the witch once or twice during the past month.

"Scared of them, I expect," my brother says amusedly. "Apparently, she loathes part-humans. She campaigned to have Merpeople rounded up and tagged last year, too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting Merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose," he says with a wry grin.

I narrow my eyes at him and Sirius waves a hand at me as if to brush away the subject, not even glancing at me. It isn't a secret that there is a great difference in our opinions when it comes to Kreacher.

"So, what are Umbridge's lessons like?" Sirius asks suddenly. "Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?" He says, and I supress a snort.

"Ah, well, that figures," my brother says with a contemplative look. "Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."

Even though I suspect the Order has not disclosed the most crucial matters to me in the meetings, I've heard of this one. At the end of last month Fudge created a bunch of new laws to make improvements in Hogwarts, laws that allow him to select an appropriate person for a teaching post if Dumbledore is unable to provide one.

"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," Sirius says quickly, "or, rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing - forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic."

Yep. That's our Minister…

My brother is listening again before he speaks. "Yep. Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge." He says dryly.

"I don't know," Sirius says after a short silence. "I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just me here," He says, and I arch an incredulous brow at him. What am I? Thin air? In the midst of my annoyance I still hear the note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.

"Ah…" Sirius mutters, a bit uncomfortably. "Well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him." He says, and I wonder whom is he talking about. "But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you three get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine." He says quickly.

So…the half-giant is missing? This is turning out to be quite an informative floocall.

"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home - but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or - well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay," Sirius says with a reassuring voice.

I frown at him. I'm trying to figure out if he is lying to them or not. I understand the need to mellow the news to the kids, especially when they cannot do anything, and, well…what I can gather from my brother's behaviour, he is worried about Hagrid's whereabouts.

"Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid," my brother says hastily, "it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay."

My brother's silent for a moment before he speaks again. "When's your next Hogsmeade weekend, anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could —'

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me," I mutter and roll my eyes. Sirius sends a quick glare towards me over his shoulder.

He then chuckles into the flames. "Oh, that," he says, grinning, "they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue –"

He's been interrupted, and I hope to Merlin the kids have some sense in their heads.

"All right, all right, I've got the point," my brother says with a displeased tone. I guess the kids have some sanity in their heads. "Just an idea, thought you might like to get together," Sirius says tightly.

My brother's silent for a moment before he speaks. "You're less like your father than I thought," he says finally, a definite coolness in his voice. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James," He says bitterly.

And apparently, when needed, my brother can also be petulant and imprudent.

"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs," Sirius says quickly, an unreadable expression on his face.

What a fucking liar.

"I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?" He asks a bit sourly. Then he extracts himself away from the flames and closes the floo connection with a tiny pop. He turns towards me with a scowl on his face.

"Congratulations, brother," I say snidely. "You're an arse."

Sirius glares at me. "Bugger off," He mutters and leaves the room.


	7. Poking Holes

**Chapter 7: Poking Holes**

**Grimmauld Place, October 8th 1995**

I'm in the kitchen, listening to my brother and Severus bickering. The Order meeting is about to begin, and the two of them are already trading insults, far from behaving like the adults they are. The room is full of people, as most of the Order have joined in today's meeting. I sit between my brother and Nymphadora, across from Dedalus Diggle, Emmie Vance and Severus.

Alastor Moody clears his throat from the other end of the table. "All right, everyone!" He says loudly and the chatter fades. My brother and Severus settle for staring at each other with utter contempt.

"So, as it has been confirmed that Podmore is going to do time until the end of March, Bill Weasley will take care of his…assignment," Moody says, his eyes flickering to me before he gestures to the ginger haired wizard next to my cousin. "And as we now know he was subjected to an Imperius Curse, we have to be more careful in the future," he continues.

Even though I haven't been trusted with the information, I know there is something that most of the Order members are assigned to. I already know about the guard post in Hogsmeade, which is mainly for keeping an eye on Potter and possible Death Eater movement in the village, but in addition to that, the Order is guarding something else. Something in the Ministry. Something that was Podmore's assignment.

Regardless of the Wizengamot charging Podmore with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry, it is clear that Podmore wasn't there to steal anything on his own accord. Which means that the Order is guarding something that the Dark Lord wants. I reckon it could be anything. Supposedly something to do with the Department of Mysteries. It is rather entertaining to keep guessing, since their secrets are so poorly protected that the Order could simply let me in on them. While I stare blankly ahead, I hear many protests about Podmore's sentence around the table.

"Is it possible to appeal? Can't the Auror office provide any evidence that he was acting under the curse?" Emmie – well, Emmeline asks. I give her a long stare, and she turns to look at me with narrowed eyes. I lift my brows slightly, trying to provoke her. The witch quickly moves her attention back to Moody who is speaking again, her posture now stiffer than it was. It has been going on like this since my arrival. Whenever she's participating in an Order meeting, it is obvious that she's somehow bothered by my presence. I suppose going down memory lane can be a bitch.

"…unfortunately, since Fudge and his henchmen will not see reason, as usual," Moody says with irritation.

We talk more about Fudge and his politics; how he's doing everything in his power to assure the wizarding world that nothing has changed, even though there have been signs, occurrences that he must have had noticed as well. The conversation shifts to the situation in Hogwarts, and Severus explains the latest irrationalities the new High Inquisitor has put in motion.

"Speakin' of somethin' put in motion," Mundungus Fletcher says from further along the table. "Stopped at Hog's Head yes'erday durin' my watch shift an' saw somethin' ya'll wanna hear," He grunts and everyone turns their focus on him.

Apparently, yesterday was Fletcher's shift to guard Hogsmeade, and it seems that the twat decided to neglect his duties…again.

I truly do not understand why the Order is still trusting Fletcher with these challenging tasks. I know that they need a knave like him, someone who hears things the others don't, but that doesn't mean he needs to be involved in the missions. Everyone should realise that the man is vulnerability for the Order. And I'm quite sure he's stolen from my family's priceless possessions. I make a mental note to ask Kreacher to investigate it.

"The kids were meetin' up 'n the pub, an' they were speakin' abou' formin' a secret defence grou' where they're gonna practice spells they aren' allowed or taugh' in school," Fletcher explains. There's a loud chattering and a mix of gasps and amused sounds in the room.

"What?!" Molly Weasley's voice booms above everyone else's. "Who exactly was there?" She demands, narrowing her eyes at Fletcher.

The man in question shrinks back a bit from the fierce look in Molly's eyes, while my brother sniggers quietly next to me.

"I would like to know more as well. Whose idea was this? Who is leading them?" Moody asks grimly, glancing at Severus. I look at my old friend as well, and Severus merely rolls his eyes, seemingly bored.

"Potter, I assume. The arrogance certainly runs in the family," He says derisively, and my brother clenches his jaw next to me.

"Don't tempt me, Snivellus," Sirius growls warningly.

Severus sneers at him and opens his mouth, evidently to make some retort but I manage to interrupt him. "Sev." I say tightly and give him a meaningful look.

We've gone this over many times in our past. My brother, Potter and Severus had a habit of allowing themselves to be provoked into a duel. Even though I didn't get along with my brother back then, or we somewhat ignored each other in Hogwarts, I still occasionally restrained Severus from lashing out at my brother, preventing him from doing something he might regret later. The difference between them was that while the impulsive Gryffindors were eager to challenge Slytherins, they weren't responsible for creating some of the most vicious curses.

Severus looks disappointed but stays quiet.

Moody clears his throat. "Gentlemen," He says and arches a disapproving brow at Severus and my brother before he continues. "Dung, what else did you hear?" He asks gruffly and looks at the man, while his glass eye is fixated on our end of the table.

As the conversation goes on, it becomes clear that it is indeed Potter who has been forming a defence group during the Hogsmeade weekend, and they intend to meet weekly to practice defensive and offensive spells. We argue about it for a while, and Molly especially seems quite bothered by the thought of her four children joining such activities while the school is under the Ministry's watchful eye.

My brother obviously thinks it's hilarious, while I'm siding with the majority opinion – that forming such group is careless and dangerous, not to mention foolish. But then again, they are young, and there is a war approaching, so a part of me understands their motives to learn to defend themselves.

Sirius announces that he'll try to contact his godson through the floo again to ask him details about this group and their meeting in Hogsmeade, and even though Moody warns him about the risk of his exposure, my brother reassures him that he will not get caught. Molly sourly commands Sirius to pass on a message for Ron, forbidding him to join in said group, as his future will surely be ruined.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, October 9th 1995**

"FUCK!" My brother yells from somewhere downstairs, while the portrait of my mother starts to scream uncontrollably. "REGGIE!" He calls, and I can hear him running up the stairs towards my room.

I let out a weary sigh and put a marker on the book I'm reading in my comfortable armchair before my brother barges in, looking slightly alarmed.

"Reggie!" He says, panting slightly as he walks towards me.

I lift my brows at him. "Well, how nice of you to knock, brother," I say blankly and give a pointed glance to the door. I can still hear mother moaning her usual slurs downstairs.

Sirius waves his hand in dismissal, looking grim. "That hag – Umbridge – almost caught me," He says harshly.

"What? How?" I ask with alert, my annoyance quickly dissipating. I stand up hurriedly and stare between the door and my brother anxiously. He was almost caught? Does she know our whereabouts? My mind is whirling with questions while Sirius paces in front of me, tugging his hair in frustration.

"That fucking bitch almost snatched me during the floocall!" He says, seething. I relax a bit. So, we're probably not in an imminent danger. I doubt that she can she track the floocall since my father has set up strong wards in this house. Still, it is something we should investigate.

"I'm sure I got away in time, otherwise we'd have company already…" He continues, although he looks uncertain.

I clear my throat. "You need to inform someone." I say seriously, and he nods. "Close the floo after that, ward it and…and stop contacting Potter," I order with annoyance in my voice, and he nods again, leaving my room while clenching his jaw and muttering under his breath.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, November 5th 1995**

It is the end of yet another Order meeting. There hasn't been any significant news, besides Hagrid finally arriving to Hogwarts after his mission. McGonagall, who's joining the meeting this time, says that she hasn't yet had the chance to speak with the half-giant privately, but she will as soon as possible. She also sourly informs my brother and Molly that Potter and Molly's twin sons have been banned for life from Quidditch before she takes off. I can see Severus's lips twitch with glee while my brother scowls and sends him a nasty look. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

Sirius has kept his word and hasn't contacted Potter since the incident last month. The past month has been largely the same as the month before. With few unpleasantries. Like the unfortunate occurrence on Halloween, when my brother got himself half out of his mind with alcohol and ended up unconscious for three days – a stunt that would have been fatal to a mere muggle. And that one time, when my brother lit the ground floor on fire after having a little spat with our mother. After we managed to stop the flames, it turned out that while everything else in the hallway had burned, her portrait had still survived without suffering any injuries at all. My brother hadn't really appreciated the irony in that.

As the room clears, I notice that Severus is still there, eyeing me impassively.

"May we speak?" He asks, and I nod and gesture for him to follow me. My brother stays in the kitchen with Lupin and stares at us carefully as we leave.

Even though Severus and I were friends when we were at Hogwarts, there is a certain coolness between us now. He of course interrogated me after our first meeting, undoubtedly due to others' request. What he learned during the Veritaserum laced conversation was much the same Dumbledore had learned after I came here. To my relief, my old friend was merely focused on making sure I wasn't working as a spy for the Dark Lord, and thus the information regarding the locket remained hidden.

"What is it?" I ask politely as we enter the library and place a couple of silencing charms to the door. We sit down in the armchairs in front of the fireplace, and Severus clears his throat.

"The Dark Lord is planning something ambitious," Severus says slowly.

I nod. We already established that in the meeting. "Is he not always planning something ambitious?" I ask wryly.

Severus arches a brow. "You have been spending too much time with your imbecilic brother," he says with a hint of sneer in his expression.

We haven't discussed privately in weeks, even with him occasionally joining the meetings.

I shake my head in amusement. "Still?" I ask, and even though he and my brother quarrel almost in every meeting, I'm still slightly stunned that they are holding their school grudges against each other after so many years.

He narrows his eyes at me.

"I take that as a yes." I say simply. "What is he planning then?" I ask, changing the subject back to the Dark Lord.

Severus frowns. "I have my suspicions."

"And you're not going to tell me what they are." I conclude for him, not really surprised if that is the case.

He gives me a long stare, a blank expression on his eyes, and I know he doesn't truly trust me. Well, I suppose he is entitled to that. As a double agent, there's only so many you can trust.

"Potter's connection with him…the Dark Lord will try to use it. He will try to lure the boy out of the castle," Severus says eventually.

I arch a brow at him. "And Potter will take the bait?" I ask. Even though I do not know Potter well, I still doubt that he would completely place his trust in his visions.

Severus scoffs. "There's no doubt in that. The boy is an arrogant little twit, just like his father was, with that insolent sense of entitlement and a spiteful sense of humour," He grits out with an angry sneer on his face.

I lift my brows in mild surprise. He is definitely bothered by the boy.

"Can't someone rein him in then?" I ask quizzically. Wouldn't it be beneficial for the Order if the connection between the boy and the Dark Lord was closed down?

Severus looks bitter. "I've discussed this with Dumbledore. I think the boy needs to start learning how to close the connection himself. Unfortunately, the Headmaster doesn't share my line of thought."

"Occlumency?" I ask. Severus gives me a curt nod. Learning the skill would make sense. Although, I understand Dumbledore's hesitation. Not everyone can learn the skill. Not everyone can learn to close their minds. In worst case, it could only enhance their connection, which the Dark Lord could ultimately use in his favour.

"So, there's nothing to do then?" I ask and rub my temple. My head is hurting.

"Evidently." He says grimly.

We trade a few thoughts regarding the recent Order meeting before Severus leaves back to Hogwarts.

Some time after our conversation, my brother enters the library.

"What did Snivellus want?" Sirius asks with a suspicious voice as he walks towards the seating area.

I roll my eyes and don't even bother to look up from my book as he drops down in an armchair opposite to me.

"Well?" He presses on, and I glance at him. He's staring at me with a narrow-eyed look. Like he's certain that I was plotting something with Severus.

I put my book away and give my brother a reproaching look. "Really? Snivellus? Still?" I merely ask.

Sirius arches a brow at me. "Really. Now, what did he want?" He asks sharply.

I know that my conversation with Severus did not contain anything the Order couldn't know. Or what they didn't suspect already. "Has Potter mentioned anything about his…connection to the Dark Lord?" I ask, and the look on my brother's face turns unreadable.

"What did Snape say?" He says coldly.

I lift my brows slightly.

"I don't trust that fucking slime ball, in case you are wondering," Sirius says harshly.

I give him a weary sigh. "I gathered." I say dully. "Severus suspects that the Dark Lord might use the connection."

"How?" Sirius asks quickly, a mix of alarm and suspicion in his eyes.

I shrug. "Invade his mind, possess him. Not sure." I say neutrally.

My brother only gives me a contemplative look but doesn't say anything.

After a moment I stand up, ready to retreat to my quarters when I remember something. I search my pockets and dig out a small parcel. "Happy birthday, brother." I say and toss him the gift.

Sirius catches the parcel with a baffled look. After recovering from the surprise, he arches a brow at me. "My birthday was two days ago," He says with a withering look.

I give him a thin smile. "Well, you weren't exactly up and running two days ago," I say pointedly, referring to his alcohol induced coma. After the incident, I learned that his friends – Potter and his wife – had died at Halloween. And that he was mourning them.

Sirius flinches, undoubtedly the events still raw in his mind. "I suppose you expect me to be grateful that you gave me something…" He grumbles, looking away.

I shrug. "Well, if it helps, I spent  _your_  money," I say with a small grin before I turn and leave the room.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, December 20th 1995**

Time has passed again, and even though I have continued to research the ways to destroy a Horcrux, I haven't really managed to find anything I could try on the damned locket. There is Fiendfyre of course – which I'm suspecting could do the trick – but since it isn't actually written anywhere that it would destroy a Horcrux, and, well, it is quite impossible to learn to cast and maintain, I have continued to search for other means. Unfortunately, I have almost read through the entire collection of the Black library, so the fiery curse might be my only solution.

My brother is self-indulging in pity and Firewhiskey again. It's something that seems to be occurring nearly every time one of his friends or Order members – usually Lupin – leaves and we are left alone in Grimmauld Place. My brother and I rarely seek each other's company. But this close to Christmas and having witnessed his whims and mood swings long enough, I decide to go to him.

He's in father's study, leaning back in the armchair behind the desk, gazing out of the window to the snowy street behind the half-opened curtains. His customary Firewhiskey bottle is nestled between his hands, on top of his lap. I suppose he looks a bit…miserable. Wistful. Hopeless.

"What do you want, Reggie?" He grunts quietly. He doesn't turn to look at me, but instead takes another swig from the bottle.

I arch a brow at him, even though he doesn't see my expression. "What's with the pity party?" I ask blankly as I take a couple of steps forward and slump into a chair facing the desk, across from him.

He shrugs. "Decided to make today more entertaining."

I lift my brows at him and give him a dull look. "Yes, I can see how entertained you are," I drawl and hold out my hand for him, expecting him to give me the bottle. Truthfully, he looks rather dreadful.

Sirius chuckles dryly and hands me the liquor. I take a swig and cough a bit. I haven't drunk Firewhiskey, or anything with alcohol for that matter, in a long time, not after visiting my parents' graves. After the strong taste, it burns deliciously, and I take another gulp.

"Easy there, rookie…" Sirius says with laughter in his voice as he snags the bottle back.

"Sod off." I mutter and study him as he stares out from the window.

We stay silent for a while. "You have an addiction, you know?" I say to him. He drinks to take his mind off from the bad things, I reckon. He's always been like that, closing himself off even when the bad things weren't so…extensive. He's at his best when he has someone and at his worst when he's alone. And I know I'm partly to blame for his loneliness.

My brother gives me a scornful glance. "Yes, well, let's just say I'm full of childhood traumas," he says dryly.

I shake my head at him. "Don't we all know that," I mutter quietly.

Sirius scoffs. "And what is that supposed to mean?" He says with a sharp voice.

I give him a shrug and a blank look. "You. Blaming either yourself or your family about every bad thing that has happened to you," I say, accusation heavy in my voice.

Sirius looks like he's tasted something vile, but he doesn't say anything as he turns his gaze away from me. There's another silence.

"What about your godson?" I ask, wondering what Potter would think of his godfather.

Sirius scowls at me. "What about him?" He asks gruffly.

I shrug. "It is Christmas soon. You don't mind that he sees…this?" I say and gesture him.

He fights to keep his expression blank. I know I've hit a sore spot. "Whatever. It's not like I'll be seeing him very soon. He can't be here with me. Dumbledore's made sure of that…" He says darkly.

I lift my brows in mild surprise but just as I'm about to reply to him, a loud shouting erupts from upstairs, stirring mother's portrait awake.

As mother starts to scream her usual obscenities, we both leap to our feet and dash away from father's study, wands at the ready.

" _Filth! Scum! You're both a disgrace to my family! How dare you sully the house of my fathers_ -"

"Shut up, you lousy hag!" Sirius roars at her and throws a silencing charm to mother's portrait just as her eyes are bulging from their sockets with anger.

I give him a reprimanding look, and Sirius merely shrugs and jerks his head upstairs, where we can still hear someone yelling. "Care to investigate that, or are you worried of dear mother's feelings?" He asks with exasperation and makes his way quickly up the stairs. I bite back a remark and follow him.

We stop in front of the room where the noise is coming from, the same one Potter and his friend-Weasley occupied during the summer.

"It's Phineas," Sirius says quickly, kicking the door open while pointing his wand inside the room.

There's no one there, and as we step into the room, Phineas Nigellus, the portrait of a previous Headmaster of Hogwarts – which, for reasons I do not know is moved from downstairs hallway into this room – gives us a bored look as he leans into his frame.

"Finally." Phineas scoffs. "I've been shouting here a great amount of time." He says with irritation. I share a look with my brother.

Sirius clears his throat. "What is it?"

"The current Headmaster wishes me to deliver you a message." He says grimly.

We both stare at him expectantly.

"Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and his wife, children and Harry Potter will be arriving into your house shortly," He says with a bored voice.

"Fuck." Sirius mutters and we share another glance, this one more alerted. We both know that Arthur Weasley has been on a mission.

Phineas arches a thin brow at my brother, evidently annoyed by his language.

"Tell him we're delighted," I say quickly to the portrait, and immediately the previous Headmaster disappears.

We both stare at the empty portrait numbly, before Sirius clears his throat and looks at me, a hint of fear in his eyes. "Come on, they'll probably be downstairs in a bit."

We move quickly down the stairs and hear clattering from the basement. As we enter the kitchen, I hear Kreacher muttering profanities to our guests. Sirius growls with annoyance and aims a kick to the slightly deranged Elf, but I manage to yank my brother backwards, so he misses it.

"Kreacher," I say warningly, and I give a sideways glare to my brother. "Prepare us some tea and then go clean up the quest rooms," I say to the Elf and Sirius clenches his jaw but refrains from saying anything, and instead focuses on the five teenagers who have materialised in our kitchen, scrambling back to their feet.

As my brother goes to help the youngest Weasley up, I glance at the others. They're all looking scared and anxious.

"What is it? Why are you here?" Sirius asks from all of them. I vaguely realise we both probably smell like we've been just drinking, which we have. "Phineas Nigellus told us that Arthur's been injured – " My brother says, but one of the twins interrupt him, suggesting that he should ask Potter what had happened.

Everyone turns their eyes at Potter, me included. The boy in question stammers as he starts to explain himself. Apparently, he has seen a vision about a snake attacking Arthur Weasley in an empty corridor. I exchange a look with my brother. We are both aware that the Dark Lord has a snake, and apparently, he has used the snake to attack Arthur Weasley. Why Potter has seen everything, is rather obvious. He's seen the Dark Lords mind.

Everyone is quiet after Potter ends his story, and Potter's friends give him grim looks, probably expecting him to give them more information about the situation. Kreacher provides us a large tray in the middle of the dining table, filled with a teapot, several cups, a selection of sandwiches, scones and fruits. I give the elf a grateful nod before he slips away from the kitchen.

"Is our mum here?" The other twin asks from my brother, and Sirius shakes his head at him.

"I'm not sure if she even knows yet what is happening, or if she does, she's probably on her way to see your father," Sirius says carefully. "What's important is that you're safely out of Hogwarts before that Ministry hag could've interfered into this," He says, and the Weasley kids start to argue with my brother.

They of course want to go to see their father, who apparently has been taken into St Mungo's. My brother thinks that they can't go before their mother has arrived there, as it would look suspicious if they'd just show up in the hospital before Arthur's wife even has been informed. I have to say I agree with my brother.

While they have at it, I glance at Potter. He's looking guilty, remorseful even. I suspect he thinks he's had something to do with the attack.

Sirius's voice is slowly becoming more irritated, and just as I'm about to suggest that everyone should calm down, the other twin shouts at my brother about him not risking his neck and being content of hiding in his house. I can see my brother going very stiff, his fingers pressing tightly into fists.

"Enough." I say darkly. Both twins shut up and scowl at me, while Sirius grits his teeth together. "Let's just wait for your mother's arrival before anyone does anything stupid." I say grimly and gesture at the table. "Sit down." I say firmly.

The twins stare at me defiantly for a moment but eventually everyone sits around the table.

Sirius lets out a sigh. "I'm sure we'll hear from her soon enough. Come on, let's all have something to eat and drink while we wait, okay?" He says kindly, eyeing the teenagers and waving his wand on the tea tray. Cups levitate slowly in front of everyone, along with a small plate with a sandwich and a fruit in each.

We sip tea from our cups in silence, and all that can be heard is the soft clinking of our cups touching the table, and the sound of the kitchen fire burning.

I sit next to Potter, and I can see him clenching his jaw every five minutes. He's trembling slightly, swallowing deeply, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. I share a meaningful look with my brother, who then eyes his godson with worry.

Then a burst of fire appears in the air, and a phoenix tail feather and a scroll of parchment drop on the table. Everyone gasps in shock, and my brother snatches the parchment from the table. "This must be from your mother," he mutters and gives the letter to the twins, who start reading it aloud.

It seems that Arthur is alive, but in a critical condition still. Molly writes that she'll go the hospital and she advises her children to stay where they are.

The mood is dark, and I can see fear in everyone's eyes. The news that Arthur is in a critical condition seems to shake everyone. We stay in silence, avoiding each other's eyes and the night goes on. During the early hours of the next morning my brother suggests that we ought to get a couple of hours of sleep, but the kids merely scowl back at him. I'm tired as fuck, but I not going to leave my brother to handle the group of anxious teenagers alone. I also want to know what is going on.

We stay put, and the night goes on. At some point, both twins have fallen into a light slumber, and I can see Potter exchanging worried glances with my brother every now and then. After a long silence, a long night, a long wait, it is finally morning. The door bursts open and Molly Weasley steps into the kitchen, looking white and apprehensive. She manages to give her children a small smile as she tells everyone the news. Arthur's going to be all right.

The kids hug their mother while she tells them more about his condition. Relieved, my brother jovially starts preparing breakfast with his godson. Molly eventually expresses her gratitude to Potter, and then to my brother and me for looking after her children through the night. My brother seems very pleased and even more so, when Molly asks if they can all spend the Christmas in Grimmauld Place. I feel a mix of annoyance and excitement as my brother agrees enthusiastically.

As my brother and Potter step into the pantry for a chat, I decide I need to sleep more than I need food, so I slip away from the kitchen and make my way into my room, where I fall into my bed, exhausted from the sleepless night.


	8. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go :) For the sake of consistency, some of the lines are from OotP.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

**Chapter 8: Revelation**

**Grimmauld Place, December 21st 1995**

I'm in my bedroom, well, not really  _my_  room, but the one Ron and I shared the last time we were here, at Grimmauld Place. I stare at the wall opposite to me, trying to stay awake by pressing myself against the hard metal bars on the bedstead. I try to focus in on Ron's snoring, but it only makes me want to close my eyes more. I can't let myself fall asleep. Not after what happened the last time I slept. Not after dreaming about being inside a giant snake and then attacking Mr. Weasley. Because that is how it went. It was me. I was the snake. And now I have to stay awake, so I don't hurt anyone else.

Eventually Ron wakes up, and I make it seem like I too had a quick nap. We go to lunch and change our clothes before heading towards St Mungo's. Everyone around me seems to be in high spirits after being on pins and needles the previous night, desperately waiting news about Mr. Weasley. Sirius is thrilled to have so many people surrounding him again, not to mention by the prospect of everyone staying at Grimmauld Place for Christmas. Even though I want to feel that same joy and relief, I can't help but feel terrified.

We travel across muggle London by Underground, with Tonks and Mad-Eye escorting us. Tonks tries to chat with me while we sit side by side on the train, but I only manage to mumble something to her in reply. I really don't feel like talking to anyone. We get off in the centre of London, where we step into the busy street, packed with Christmas shoppers. I follow the group and eventually we stop in front of a large department store called Purge 6z Dowse Ltd.

"Here we go," Moody says as he walks past me towards the display window.

The store seems to be empty and it looks like it has been abandoned in the middle of restoration. I hear two women make remarks about the store, wondering if the place is ever going to open as they pass us and the building.

My eyes travel along the front of the building, from the rusty doors to the chipped dummies in the display window, but I see nothing that indicates that the place is a wizarding hospital. Just as I'm about to ask Moody where the entrance is, Tonks speaks to one of the broken dummies. Realising how odd it must look; leaning against a window of a closed department store and speaking to a dummy, I quickly enter through the glass with the others after the dummy gives Tonks a small nod and beckons us to move forward.

What awaits me on the other side of the glass is not a bunch of old and dusty dummies, but a large reception area of the wizarding hospital. St Mungo's Hospital.

The waiting room is filled with several wizards and witches, some of them sporting nasty disfigurements or obvious magical injuries, while others merely sit on the wobbly, mismatched chairs and flip through magazines or chat with each other, seeming perfectly well. There's a man with canary feathers instead of his hair, and a long feathery tail trailing behind him as he walks across the room. A woman is literally barking to one of the receptionists as she desperately tries to explain herself.

I learn that the witches and wizards with a crossed wand and bone embroidered in their lime-green robes are called Healers, the equivalent of doctors in the muggle world. Mrs. Weasley talks with one of the receptionists and a moment later we follow her towards the Dai Llewellyn Ward on the first floor.

On our way we pass several Healers who hurry along the corridor, and many doors which lead to examination rooms from where sounds of moaning and howling carry out. Eventually we find Mr. Weasley's room and Mrs. Weasley ushers me in with the rest of her family, while Mad-Eye and Tonks stay behind in the corridor.

I step into the small ward occupying three patients. Mr. Weasley is at the far end of the ward, looking rather cheerful, all things considered. He chatters happily about everything but the fact where he had been when the attack had happened. Fred and George try to badger him about it, but Mrs. Weasley soon reins them in.

After a while, Fred, George, Ron, Ginny and I step outside to wait while Mad-Eye and Tonks join Mrs. Weasley to chat with Mr. Weasley. We of course know they'll be speaking about the attack, and the twins dig out a handful of Extendable Ears from their pockets. We start to listen to the conversation behind the closed door, and indeed they are talking about the attack, how the snake got in – wherever it is Mr. Weasley was – and how it got out before no one managed to capture it.

Then they mention my name. My heart starts to hammer uncomfortably inside my chest.

"…So, Potter says he saw it all happen?" Moody asks with an indistinct voice.

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley says, sounding anxious. "You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this," she continues quietly.

"Yeah, well," Moody grunts, "there's something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that."

I can hear the others hum with agreement. "Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," Mrs. Weasley says carefully.

"Course he's worried," Moody says with a hint of irritation. "The boy's seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realise what that means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him —"

I rip the Extendable Ear out of my own, not able to listen anymore. Shaking slightly, I glance at my friends, speechless by the speculation inside the hospital room. My friends stare at me, Extendible Ears still hanging from their ears, a mix of fear and shock on their faces.

The travel back to Grimmauld Place is quiet, and I cannot even look at the others. I feel filthy, stained and disgusting. Even though I had been suspecting that I am possessed by Voldemort, hearing it from the others feels like confirmation. I reckon this is the reason Dumbledore doesn't want to look at me. Because Dumbledore would see him. Voldemort.

I am the weapon he was after. He wanted to possess me to learn about the Order. He wanted to use me to hurt others around me. And he has succeeded. That is why I'm constantly being guarded or followed. The Order members guarding me are not there for my protection, but for the protection of others around me.

The thought is making me feel nauseated. The moment we step into Sirius's house, I run upstairs into my room. I need to figure out what to do next. How to protect the others from me.

How can I be the snake? How is that possible? Questions keep flooding my head as I pace across the room. Was Voldemort an Animagus? And when he possessed me, we both turned to snakes? Is that even possible? Did Voldemort somehow apparate me to London and back?

As minutes go by, I'm more and more convinced that I'm putting everyone around me in danger. If Voldemort can possess me, he could learn where the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is, and he could attack most of its members. I know what I must do. I need to leave. The others are safer if I'm not here.

After making up my mind, I start collecting my things. I know I can't go back to Hogwarts either. I can't be around wizarding people. So…Privet Drive it is, I conclude with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Just when I have managed to drag my trunk halfway across the room, the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, a previous Headmaster of Hogwarts, speaks.

"Running away, are we?" He says with an unpleasant tone.

I turn to look at the previously empty portrait, and there he is now, leaning against the frame, eyeing me speculatively.

"Not running away, no," I reply to him curtly and turn to continue towards the door.

"I thought," Phineas says slowly, "that to belong in Gryffindor house you were supposed to be brave. It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my own house. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks." He says simply, an amused glint in his eyes.

I narrow my eyes at the portrait, feeling annoyed. "It's not my own neck I'm saving," I say to him simply and pull my trunk a bit forward.

"Oh, I see," Phineas drawls indifferently, "this is no cowardly flight - you are being noble."

I know he's only trying to goad me into some unguarded response so I ignore him and finally reach the doorknob.

"I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore."

I whirl around. "What is it?" I ask urgently, dropping my trunk loudly on the floor.

"'Stay where you are.'"

I lift my brows at him, waiting for the message. "I haven't moved," I tell him. "So, what's the message?"

Phineas rolls his eyes. "I have just given it to you, dolt," he says simply. "Dumbledore says, 'Stay where you are.'"

Confusion fills me. "Why?" I ask hastily. "Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?"

Phineas shrugs. "Nothing whatsoever," he says, studying his nails as though they were more interesting than the conversation.

Anger and frustration surge inside me. That's it? Stay where you are? After everything I've been through, after everything that has happened during the past days? Or months. Or even years. And Dumbledore doesn't have anything else to say to me.

I feel bitter, untrustworthy. I feel betrayed.

"So that's it, is it?" I say darkly. "'Stay where you are'! That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those Dementors, too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!" I say nastily.

"You know," Phineas says loudly, "this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are so infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the Headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No. No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you alone feel and think, you alone recognise danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realise what the Dark Lord may be planning –"

"He is planning something to do with me, then?" I interrupt him, feeling almost triumphant.

Phineas arches a brow at me. "Did I say that?" He says with a bored voice. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than listen to adolescent agonising… good day to you," he says with finality before he moves away from his frame, disappearing from it.

I let out a frustrated growl. "Fine, go then!" I yell at the empty frame. "And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!"

My words fall on deaf ears, since the frame remains empty and silent. I aim an angry kick to my trunk, and only manage to hurt my foot in the process. "Shit!" I grunt and hop towards my bed, leaving my trunk where it is as I lay down on the ragged covers. My head feels heavy with thoughts. So much has happened during the past couple of days. Was it only yesterday when I was under the mistletoe with Cho Chang? I try to remember my first kiss but I can't. I just can't.

I'm afraid to go to sleep, even though I'm so tired that I probably could sleep while standing up. What if I turn into a snake again? What if I kill someone? My eyes feel heavier and heavier, and I can't keep myself awake anymore.

As soon as sleep takes over, I start dreaming about the door. It's the same dream I've had multiple times now. I want to get through the door, but I can't. I try to open it, because I know that inside…lays something I desire the most.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, December 22nd 1995**

In the morning, the Weasleys and my godfather are cheerfully putting up Christmas decorations. I decide to stay away from everyone, and instead spend the day in the many unused rooms in this house. I succeed in it, at least until Hermione arrives and orders me to come back into my room to talk with the others.

My friends think I'm not possessed, and in the end, I let myself believe them. I want to believe them. Nevertheless, believing it doesn't put me completely at ease. There is still a connection between me and Voldemort. But how deep and dangerous, that is the question, isn't it?

Sirius at least is fully enjoying the situation. He's filled with laughter and joy, bouncing from room to room, chatting happily with everyone while decorating the house and humming Christmas songs. I realise it must have been a long time since he has had the opportunity to celebrate Christmas with friends and family. As I study him, laughing with Fred and George in the drawing room corner, my mind drifts to the night we arrived here.

I hadn't paid much attention to it then, but I now remember how he had smelled like he had swallowed a bottle of Firewhiskey and a pack of cigarettes. He had been unshaven and dishevelled. Even when his eyes brightened the moment he saw us, I noticed the flash of misery in his eyes. I wonder how he has been the past months.

When the schoolyear started and everyone left, I thought he wouldn't feel like he was left behind, or left alone. Because he had his brother here. I glance around the room, and almost everyone else is here, or in the kitchen downstairs. Except for Regulus.

"Hey, Ron?" I say and glance at my friend, who is in the process of separating a bunch of silver Christmas ornaments from a tangled pile – the only ones not cursed, Sirius had said before discarding several other boxes of decorations.

Ron grunts absentmindedly, and after managing to separate one ornament from the others, he turns to look at me. "Yeah, mate?"

"Have you seen Sirius's brother?" I ask, and my eyes flicker back to my godfather, who I'm rather sure just discreetly passed a small parcel to the twins. I hope Molly doesn't find out about it, since my godfather has been in her good books the last couple of days. I look at Ron again. "I mean, he is still here, right?"

Ron seems thoughtful for a moment. "Yeah, I reckon he is. Haven't seen him though. Why?" He asks and tears a couple of ornaments away from the pile while cursing under his breath. Molly has forbidden us from using magic, and Ron has made it clear what his thoughts are regarding that. Even though we probably could get away with it since there's a handful of adults who use magic near us, Molly doesn't want to take any risks.

I contemplate what to say. I don't want to speak badly about my godfather, but I reckon Ron too has seen the change in him. I look at Sirius again when I speak quietly. "You think it's been shit for him? Being trapped in here while his friends are out there?"

Ron too glances at his brothers and my godfather. "Probably…Although, it makes me wonder…"

"What?" I ask quickly and turn to look at my friend.

Ron gives me a knowing look. "You know, if Sirius and his brother are not getting along as well as they let everyone think back then…"

I give him a slow nod. "Yeah, that's what I thought…" I mutter, a deep frown between my brows.

We continue with the decorations, and my thoughts wander back to Sirius's brother. I feel a pang of irritation on behalf of my godfather. He's been through so much in his life already…Why won't his brother be there for him, when he needs it the most?

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, December 25th 1995**

On Christmas morning, Ron and I open our presents in our bedroom with Hermione and Ron's siblings. I make a quick dash to the bathroom while the others head towards downstairs, and when I emerge into the hallway, I run into Regulus.

"Oh. Hi." I manage to say, surprised to see him finally. It seems like he's been avoiding everyone.

He gives me a curt nod, looking moody and irritated. "Hello."

The tone in his voice makes me feel a surge of annoyance. "Merry Christmas," I say with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

Regulus lifts a brow at me. "Yes. Merry Christmas." He says simply and gives me a once over, clearly disapproving my attire. Everyone, but him of course, is wearing their night gear for Christmas breakfast. Not that I'm expecting him to join us.

"Excuse me," He mutters and pushes past me, heading towards upstairs.

I grit my teeth together. His behaviour is annoying, and I can't understand why he has started to act like a prick. I manage to shrug the thoughts away and make my way to the basement.

Later that day we visit Mr. Weasley at St Mungo's again. He's looking much better, and we stay there for a while until Mrs. Weasley finds out about her husband letting his Trainee Healer try muggle stitches into his wound. Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice fills the corridor as Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I run for the tearoom.

On our way there, we run into familiar faces. At first, we bump into Lockhart, our previous twat-of-a-professor who's locked up in the Spell Damage ward after the Memory Charm he cast by Ron's damaged wand backfired. After we manage to shrug him off, we see Neville and his grandmother, visiting Neville's parents who happen to be at the same ward.

I knew about Neville's parents, what happened to them, but for some reason, I hadn't realised that they would be here. Last year, Dumbledore told me about them, how they were tortured into insanity by Death Eaters, and I even saw Dumbledore's memory of the court trial where Bellatrix, Rabastan, Rodolphus and Crouch Jr. were sentenced to life in Azkaban because of it. Hermione, Ron and Ginny are shocked by the news and stay silent on our way back to Grimmauld Place.

"Where's your brother?" I ask from Sirius as we sit in the drawing room sofa after Christmas dinner. We are both watching as Remus tries to show Ron and Hermione the correct posture for duelling in the middle of the room. Ginny bickers with her mother in one corner and the twins are somewhere in the house, probably causing mischief.

Sirius shrugs and glances at me. "Dunno. He's…better off alone, I reckon," He mutters, and I can hear resentment in his voice.

"Are you not getting along?" I ask hesitantly. Even though Sirius told me that they weren't close during their schoolyears, I thought the situation would change since both of them would be stuck in this house, unable to leave. And now they are even on the same side, fighting against Voldemort. They're brothers, for Merlin's sake! And when Regulus first came into this time, Sirius was ecstatic. I remember them spending at least some time together then, but now it seems that they have strayed. Severely.

Sirius sighs and rubs his neck. "We are. Don't worry about it," He says wearily, and I can see that there's a lot left unsaid.

I give my godfather a long stare, but I'm interrupted by Hermione, who suggests we go through a couple of spells she thinks I could teach the DA after we go back to school.

There is a mix of pride and amusement in Sirius's and Remus's eyes as they watch Ron, Hermione and I practice – without casting – and discuss Hermione's spells, as well as the ones I picked up from the books Sirius and Remus gave me for Christmas.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, December 31st 1995**

New Year's Eve has never really meant much to me, unlike what comes after. The New Year; the promises, the possibilities. I remember when I was younger and my father used to say it was a time of rebirth and starting fresh. Of course, those tales ended well before we went to school. When Sirius and I became old enough to attend Hogwarts, we became old enough to take care of ourselves. And father became competent in shutting himself off. Mother was…well, she was deluded. But she did what she thought was best for her family. Like I did, for a long time.

I've spent the late evening in the library, flipping through the pages of books, not really reading anything. Truthfully, I haven't been able to focus on anything during the past ten days. Not after sitting with my brother at father's study and witnessing how lonely he actually is. I probably should've had seen it earlier, and perhaps I did. While I have had my project to concentrate on, Sirius has had plenty of time to visit the memories of his years in Azkaban. To think about his losses.

I too have lost many things. My life, for starters. Not that it would have been a great one, had I managed to escape the cave. But I still might have my parents and my freedom.

As the clock strikes midnight, I toss the book from my hands away with a sigh and stand up. I walk to the windows to see the fireworks lighting up the sky. I feel empty. Irresolute. It's been five months since my arrival and nothing has happened. I've been inside these walls for five fucking months and I've done close to nothing. Sure, I've probably read twice every single book we have by now, and there was that one, rather unsuccessful trip to the forest, but other than that…I'm finding myself in a need of something. I just don't know what it is.

The door opens and closes, and I glance towards it. Potter stands there, eyeing me warily.

"What is it?" I ask blankly. I wonder why is he here, in the middle of the night?

He shrugs. "Was on my way upstairs and thought I'd stop by in here."

I give him a suspicious look. "Okay?"

"What's your problem?" Potter asks sharply, approaching me.

For a short moment, I'm surprised by his words. Then I let out a dry laugh. "My problem?"

"Yes." He says with a tight voice. "Why are you suddenly avoiding everyone, and so bitter, so angry?" He asks, a deep frown edged on his face.

"You are still speaking about me, right?" I ask slowly, giving him an incredulous look. Because, hell, he's just described how he usually is.

Potter grits his teeth together. "What is that supposed to mean?" He says hotly and steps closer to me. I feel a shiver of thrill when I manage to annoy him. His hands are fisted and his eyes are blazing with anger.

I give him an impassive shrug. "Guess you have to figure it out."

He scowls at me. "Whatever," he mutters. "Should've guessed you only cared for your own wellbeing. That you'd be exactly like Sirius told me you were…"

I arch a brow at him. "Oh? Do tell?" He's starting to annoy the pants out of me, and I have a fleeting thought that perhaps this was just the thing I needed. A row with someone.

He's standing right in front of me, staring at me with a defiant look in his eyes. "He told me he hated you…because you were soft enough to believe your parents, because you joined to be a Death Eater without hesitation, because you abandoned him for the sake of your parents and their beliefs." He says darkly.

I laugh loudly, disregarding the small pang of hurt his words managed to bring up. What the fuck is he gibbering about? My beliefs? Well…I admit I might've shared the Dark Lord's beliefs on some point, but in the end, I'm rather sure both my brother and I know I had no choice. My parents had no choice. Or, well, there was a choice – to be killed. Running away like my brother did just wasn't an option for the rest of us.

I give him a cold look. "You're naïve. You fail to realise the world isn't black and white." I say plainly, and he frowns at me, evidently processing my words.

He looks contemplative, unsure even. My blood is pounding in my veins and I want to smack at his ignorant face but I clench my jaw and stand still.

"Then why are you avoiding him? You're both stuck in this place. You can't leave." He says finally, with exasperation in his voice.

I scoff at him. "What happens between me and my brother is none of your concern," I say with a chilling look.

"Can't you see that he's suffering? You're the only one he's got, and yet, you don't seem to care enough," He says heatedly, his magic radiating angrily from him.

I know that he's right. I mean, I've seen how my brother is. Perhaps that's the reason his words sting a bit. "You know what? Fuck off." I say coldly, and I'm about to turn away from him, but he pulls a wand on me. He's got some bloody nerve. Not six months ago was he in a hearing because of misusing magic in front of a muggle.

I narrow my eyes at him, and I'm breathing heavily as the tip of his wand presses into my chest. I can feel the power of his magic, waiting to be set free.

"I dare you," I grit out, and he's trembling with anger.

"You'd deserve it," He says harshly. I grab his collar and drag his face closer to mine. I can feel his breath puffing against my face, his hand gripping my wrist.

"Then by all means, do what you intended to do," I say ferociously. I've had enough of his irksome attitude, and it's time to call his bluff.

We glare at each other but then something happens, a stirring of the air. I can't explain it, but I'm certain Potter senses it as well since suddenly, his gaze becomes unfocused, unsure, flickering down.

A mix of annoyance and confusion run through me. It feels like time is going slower, and I'm trying to wrack my brain to figure out why.

After what feels like a long time, I finally come around to my senses, regaining consciousness. Realising how closely we are standing and that he's been staring at my mouth, I hastily push him away. Potter stumbles backwards, his wand clattering to the floor, a look of embarrassment and shock crossing his face.

He quickly snatches his wand from the floor and flees the room without sparing me a glance.

What just happened?

I retreat to my room, and pace across the floor for a long time, trying to wrap my head around on the incident. Why? I ask, but don't receive an answer.

It's two in the morning, but I can't sleep.

I'm playing the scene from the library in my head. Over and over again. What the hell even happened? My head spins and an image of him flutters into my mind. An imagination, but still so real-like. Potter, standing in front of me, a tight grip on my wrist, his lips against mine.  _Shit…_ I can still feel his warm breath puffing against my face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Why the fuck am I thinking about him?

"Fuck!" I growl aloud and shove my hands through my hair, tugging it with frustration.

Eventually I lay down on my bed. I can feel a headache coming, and I press the bridge of my nose with my fingers, trying to make up my mind. Should I confront him? Should I go downstairs in the morning and act like nothing happened?

But nothing happened.

My imagination happened. I try to suppress the images my brain has conjured for my torment. Potter, breathing against my face. His fingers tightening on my wrist. The heat of his magic pressing to my chest from the tip of his wand. His eyes flickering to my lips.

But fuck, I can't make them go away. And to my utter mortification, I realise I'm fucking aroused. How is that even possible? I mean, it's Potter…A fifteen-year-old teenager.

FUCK! This can't even be legal. I don't have a fucking clue…I remember his bewildered expression before he ran.

And then I remember another thing. My brother. Sweet fucking Salazar, my brother's going to kill me if he finds out. No. Scratch that. My brother is going to transform into a dog and eat me alive. The likelihood of that happening helps me to make up my mind and I decide to stay hidden in my room until the very end.


	9. Into the Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back in business! Thank you for reading and reviewing!
> 
> And since we somewhat follow the events of OotP in this fic, some of the lines (Snape/Sirius argument) are from there.

 

**Chapter 9: Into the Fire**

**Grimmauld Place, January 3rd 1996**

"What is the matter with you?" Hermione asks with an exasperated tone as we slip into the bedroom Ron and I share. "You've been in a foul mood since New Year's, Harry…are you still worrying over being possessed? I thought we went through that already?" She continues, a hint of worry edged on her face.

"It's not that…" I say wearily and sit on my bed.

She sits down next to me, eyeing me carefully. "Is it because of Sirius?"

I know I'm not the only one who has withdrawn from other's company. My godfather's mood has been darkening drastically during the past couple of days. I suspect that it has something to do with the date of our departure back to Hogwarts drawing nearer.

I shrug. "Yeah, I guess so." I mutter. It is partly the reason for my gloominess. I am sad to leave this place. For the first time ever, I don't wish to go back to Hogwarts. Because of Umbridge, because of the Ministry. They've taken almost everything from me. The one place I have ever felt like home doesn't feel like that anymore. I've lost the right to play Quidditch, and even lost some of my friends. I don't want to leave Sirius behind, and if I didn't have DA waiting for me at Hogwarts – the only thing that now brings me light in there – I would've quit school and begged my godfather to let me stay with him.

Of course, there is something else bothering me as well.

For the past two days I have tried to figure out what happened in the library on Sunday night with Regulus. But I don't have a clue. Why did it feel like…like I was drawn to him? And why I wanted – oh god, I can't even believe I'm thinking about this – to kiss him? I've tried to think about Cho, the way she felt in my arms, how it felt to kiss her, but I just can't. Every time I try to bring up the memories of her, of my first kiss, I can only think of the library two days ago.

Hermione gives me a sympathetic look. "Harry…" She starts uneasily, and even though my mind has been elsewhere, I have a fair idea of what she's about to say. "It's not your job to take care of him. He's an adult and you're a child," She says prudently.

"Oh, you know what I mean, Harry," She continues with exasperation after seeing the scowl on my face. She knows how much I detest being called a child after all I've been through. After all we've been through.

I shake my head in disagreement. "Hermione…I know you might not get it, but he's the only family I've got." I say tightly. "Of course I worry for him."

Her eyes widen a bit. "Of course," She says quickly. "But that doesn't mean you should be taking care of him. It should be the other way around." She says with a small smile.

I know that she's right. But I also know my godfather is not well enough to take care of anyone but himself at the moment. Not that anyone has to take care of me. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself.

"He'll be all right," Hermione says reassuringly, squeezing my hand gently. "I mean, at least he has his brother here. I'm sure whatever it is between them, they will solve their problems eventually."

Apparently, I'm not the only one who has taken notice the situation between the brothers. I don't have time to reply to her before Ron barges into our room, complaining loudly about his mother and how he can't wait to be back in Hogwarts. His eyes linger on our clasped hands before he clears his throat and informs us that we're leaving in a moment to see his father and then for a quick stop at Diagon Alley.

As Ron walks stiffly out, I give Hermione a puzzled look. What was that? Hermione replies with a roll of her eyes and stands up to follow Ron downstairs. It's obvious I have missed something.

* * *

When we come back to Grimmauld Place from our outing, Mrs. Weasley hands me a parcel.

"Harry dear, would you be so kind to take this to Sirius? I have to start preparing dinner, it's getting late already," She rambles and disappears into the basement, ordering the others to help her.

Glad to escape the dinner duties, I start to make my way upstairs while everyone else grudgingly follows Mrs. Weasley downstairs to the kitchen. I'm almost on my way to the second floor when I hear my godfather's bark-like laughter echoing from the drawing room on the first floor.

I stop in my tracks and frown at the closed drawing room door. He has to be there with his brother since everyone else is in the kitchen, and by the sound of it, they are actually enjoying each other's company. After a moment's consideration I turn back towards downstairs, deciding not to interrupt them.

"Is it you Harry?" Sirius's voice carries into the landing.

How the hell did he know about me? …Must be the canine sense of smell. I walk into the drawing room and find Sirius and Regulus, sitting on opposite couches in the seating area with two tumblers of Firewhiskey on the coffee table between them.

Sirius's face breaks into a bright grin as his eyes meet mine. "Harry! How was your trip? Everything okay with Arthur? Come on, sit with us," he says lightly, seemingly in a good mood.

My eyes flicker towards Regulus for a moment, who stares somewhere over my left shoulder, an unreadable look in his eyes. I give my godfather a noncommittal shrug and walk towards them. "Er…yeah. I suppose the trip was okay. Got everything I need for school," I say half-heartedly, not exactly enjoying speaking about returning to Hogwarts. To Umbridge. "Arthur seems to be healing nicely. He'll be released from Mungo's in a matter of days," I continue with a bit more enthusiasm in my voice as I stop next to Sirius's couch.

He gives me an understanding smile and nods. "Yeah." he mutters, the sparkle of joy slowly disappearing from his eyes. He becomes slightly pensive, as if remembering that once Arthur is released from the hospital, the Weasley's don't need to stay at Grimmauld Place anymore, since the reason Molly decided to stay here was to be closer to St. Mungo's and her husband. I decide to interrupt Sirius's thoughts before his good mood fades altogether.

"Um," I say and gesture to the parcel in my hands, "Molly said to give you this."

Sirius eyes me and the parcel, and I can almost see gratitude in his look. He clears his throat. "Ah, my order has arrived," he says and stands up from the couch, a thin smile on his lips.

"Cheers, Harry." He says when I hand him the parcel.

I lift my brows in question and Sirius merely winks at me. "I'll tell you later," he says with a hint of secrecy in his voice as he pats me on the shoulder. "I'll be upstairs for a bit, if you don't mind?"

"Yeah, of course," I say and glance at Regulus, who is staring at us thoughtfully.

"Reggie?" Sirius says and gives his brother a meaningful look.

Regulus shrugs indifferently. "By all means, brother."

And then Sirius has slipped away from the room, and I'm wondering why am I still there.

"Er…" I mutter and turn to leave, but he stops me after two steps.

"A word, Potter."

Brilliant.

I turn back to face him. He's standing now, leaning against the end of the couch, watching me carefully. It's not the first time I've seen him after the incident on New Year's Eve, but we haven't spoken to each other after that. Before now, at least.

"Um. Yes?" I ask and try to find a spot to look at. My eyes roam over the brightly coloured oriental rug, over the half empty cabinets that previously held a vast collection of cursed articles, over the dark patterned walls, and then stop at him. As our eyes meet, I feel my face heating up.

Regulus frowns at me. "What happened at the library?" He asks with an expressionless voice. His eyes are inquisitive and accusing, and making me feel very anxious.

I cough awkwardly and move my gaze away from him. What happened, indeed? I have no explanation.

"Well?" He drawls, still leaning against the couch and looking so…casual.

I wish I could be so indifferent, so casual. Instead, I rub my neck awkwardly. "I-I…I don't know," I say with frustration and give him a helpless look. I really can't explain it. I can't explain what came over me. Why did it feel like I wanted to…to kiss him? A bloke. I didn't even know I liked blokes. I mean, I kissed Cho, right? Or, she kissed me, but either way, she was a she, you know?

"…And I don't…you know," I continue and wave my hand at him, trying to express my thoughts.

His brows lift slightly and he walks towards me. "Me neither." He says slowly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

I nod at him. "Great. Brilliant. Well, I'm glad we established that," I say to him, feeling quite uncomfortable. I swallow nervously when he stops right in front of me.

"Then what was that?" he asks curiously, a scrutinising look in his eyes.

I grit my teeth. "I dunno." I mutter as my eyes dart around the room again. I'm slightly intimidated to stare at him in the eye.

He huffs and my eyes are drawn into his face. To his lips. No, no, no…Not his lips. I stare into his eyes and his grey ones are staring back straight into mine. Why did I have to look at him?

"You are doing it again." He says mutedly after a small moment.

Shit. I let out a nervous breath. What does this mean? "I'm…I…I don't…" I stammer. FUCK! What the hell is wrong with me?! My cheeks are burning with embarrassment, and my body actually shakes with anxiety. He's probably going to throw a punch at me soon. Or perhaps he'll laugh at my face and tell everyone about my crazed behaviour.

What he does is the exact opposite. He takes a step towards me and I freeze in place. Our bodies are almost touching, and I can feel the warmth of his body and the energy of his magic buzzing between us. I only now notice that he's about five inches taller than me. His gaze is fixed downwards, at my mouth. Shit. My breathing quickens, my heart pounding in my chest, and I can swear he's leaning closer to me. Or, perhaps I'm reaching towards him?

Is this one of my freakish dreams?

Then the drawing room door opens.

"Hey, Harry, are you –" Hermione starts but her voice trails off as Regulus and I jump away from each other. Hermione gives us both a long, strange look before she collects her thoughts. "Um. Dinner's ready," she says with a hint of bewilderment still in her eyes.

I swallow hard. "Yeah. Yeah. Sure." I say quickly and rush past her towards the kitchen, not daring to look back.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, January 6th 1996**

I've been spending most of my time with Ron, Hermione, and occasionally with my godfather – at least, whenever he's not sulking in his room. We're returning to Hogwarts tomorrow and it seems like these two weeks have flown past me so quickly that I haven't had the time to enjoy them as much as I would've wanted to.

During the past few days, I've decided to forget about the undefined interactions with Regulus, since I'm not further finding out the reasons for my unusual feelings now than I was a week ago. Even if I was into blokes, which I'm fairly certain that I'm not, I wouldn't act on it and most definitely would keep it to myself, because, well, I reckon people discuss about my life enough as it is.

In the middle of my wizard's chess game against Ron, Molly steps into our room and asks me to go downstairs to meet Snape. Brilliant. It isn't enough that I get to see his greasy black hair at school tomorrow, but he has to come ruin my last night in here. Grudgingly I walk down to the kitchen, where I find Snape, Sirius and Regulus sitting at the long kitchen table. My godfather and Snape are glaring at each other while Regulus cleans up the scattering of parchments, quills and scrolls from the table with a couple flicks of his wand. The room is rather clean, the high sideboards bordering the walls where plates, cups, saucers and old silverware used to be in a muddle, seem to be now polished and organised. Kreacher's been busy.

"Er…What is it?" I ask from the doorway and look at the group unsurely.

Snape orders me to sit down and Sirius trades a couple of heated words with him until Regulus interrupts the men and glances at the seat next to Sirius, requesting me to sit there. Our eyes lock for a couple of seconds, and I swallow deeply before we both look away and I move towards the table.

As I take my seat, the school rivals throw in a few more jabs until Snape informs me that Dumbledore wants me to study Occlumency. Whatever the hell it is.

When Snape tells me he's the one who's going to give me private lessons once a week in order to learn how to shield my mind from outside penetration, starting on Monday, I turn to look at my godfather for help. Sirius starts to argue with Snape, while Regulus merely shakes his head with exasperation.

A few moments later Snape starts to leave, but my godfather stops him.

"Wait a moment," Sirius says with a tight voice. I glance at him and almost flinch from the menacing look he has trained at Snape.

Snape turns around slowly, the familiar sneer plastered on his face. "I am in rather a hurry, Black. Unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time."

Sirius's fingers convulsively clench into fists before he forces them to relax. "I'll get to the point, then," he says and stands up.

I glance at Snape, who obviously has reached his wand under his robes, and then Regulus, who is still sitting, looking relaxed, even though his eyes are watching carefully at the two men.

"If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to," Sirius says, the threat as evident in his voice as in his words.

Snape lifts a bored eyebrow at my godfather. "How touching. But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?" He asks silkily.

I bristle and scowl at Snape. Regulus gives me a studious glance before his focus is back on his brother and his friend.

Sirius gives Snape a gleeful look. "Of course, I have," he says proudly.

Snape eyes my godfather with a triumphant look. "Well then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him," he says simply.

That fucking wanker.

As I'm glaring at Snape, barely keeping my mouth shut, Sirius launches up and sends his chair clattering to the floor as he marches to Snape, his wand trained at his former school rival. Snape has his wand at the ready, and then the two men are keeping each other at wand point, both looking enraged and bitter.

"Sirius!" I yell after realising how bad the situation is. Of course, I've seen them trade insults before, but this is the first time I've witnessed my godfather lose his temper – well, if we're not counting Pettigrew, and let's face it; he was entitled to it then. I stand up and approach the men slowly.

Sirius continues, as if he has not heard me at all. "I've warned you, Snivellus. I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better –"

"Oh, but why don't you tell him so?" Snape asks tauntingly, his wand pressing onto Sirius's stomach. "Or are you afraid he might not take very seriously the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother's house for six months?" He continues and lets out a small hiss of pain as the tip of Sirius's wand heats against his neck.

Sirius gives Snape a dark look. "Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

Snape's lips curl into a sneer. "Speaking of dogs…Did you know that Lucius Malfoy recognised you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform… gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in future, didn't it?"

Sirius snarls at Snape, the tip of his wand heating more by the sounds Snape is making.

"Sirius. Don't!" Regulus yells sharply from the table where he's still sitting at, far from relaxed at this point. He's looking furious. Frightened.

After a moment, both Snape and Sirius seem to regain control of their emotions.

Sirius's jaw tightens as he lowers his wand and takes a couple of steps back, his eyes cold, glaring at Snape's sneering face for a moment before he rushes out of the room.

Snape puts his own wand away and arches a brow at Regulus, who looks back with a contemplative look in his eyes.

"May I speak with you for a moment?" Regulus asks mutedly from Snape after glancing at me quickly.

Snape gives him an expressionless nod and I take my cue and hastily leave the room, feeling their eyes on my back.

* * *

I throw a couple of spells to the door for privacy as Severus takes a seat again at the table, opposite to me.

I don't even bother to comment on his little spat with my brother. "Does the Dark Lord know that Potter saw the attack?" I ask simply, studying his features. A flicker of mirth flashes in his black eyes, as if he'd been expecting the question.

Severus nods grimly. "Naturally. And as I suspected some time ago, he will try to use it on his behalf." He says silkily.

I give him a curt nod. "Are you apt to teach Potter?" I ask, a small hesitation gnawing inside me. I know Severus and James Potter hated each other back in school, probably even more than my brother and Severus did. I've also learned that my Slytherin friend isn't exactly fond of Potter. I assume it has something to do with his hatred towards Potter's father.

Severus's lips curl into a sneer. "Believe me, I did not sign in for the task," he says bitterly.

I give him a light smirk. "I gathered," I say and wonder how fast will he read me. "To whom are you reporting to?" I ask discreetly.

His brows lift slightly, and I know he's already suspecting something. "What makes you ask that?" He questions, eyeing me with a calculative look.

I shrug indifferently. "You will know soon enough." I only say. Because of course he will. I can already picture my friend quivering with elation when he finds out about the incidents between Potter and me.

Fucking Sev.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, January 8th 1996**

_I'm standing in my room, staring at my outstretched fingers, reaching towards the bedside table. They are barely touching the surface. The surroundings are blurred, but somehow, that doesn't bother me. I feel…light. I feel at ease. It feels like something's there. Calling for me. If I blink, I think I might see it. See him. See his soul. But I don't want to. I don't want to see it. Everything will be more terrifying if I do._

_My left arm prickles, first lightly, then disturbingly. Then it starts to ache. I turn the arm slightly, my forearm up, and let out a soundless gasp. The Mark is glowing with heat. Burning like a hot coal. I hear a cold voice, hissing inside my head._

_A sharp pain sizzles through my spine…_

"AAAAH!" I scream with surprise and pain, tumbling to the floor from the library couch.

"FUCK!" I curse, and grip my left forearm. What the hell is happening? My arm is on fire. FUCK. It hurts.

Sirius bolts into the library. "What is it?" He asks hurriedly, running towards me, wand at the ready.

I'm still rolling on the floor and shuddering with pain. "The Mark," I grind out. "I burns," I hiss.

Sirius stares at me with wide eyes before his gaze shifts down to my arm. "Shit," he grumbles and aims a numbing spell to my arm.

The pain decreases considerably, and I let out a sigh of relief.

"Cheers," I wheeze and pull my sleeve up. The Dark Mark is looking darker and more raised than it was the last time I looked at it. The skin surrounding it is thin and red.

Sirius grimaces. "That's fucking appalling," He mutters as he stares at my arm.

I sneer at him. "Trust me, it fucking feels appalling," I grind through my teeth and try to stand up.

My brother quickly takes a step towards me and helps me back to the couch, while my arm keeps throbbing painfully.

"Something's happening. He's summoning us." I say to him after a short silence. From the weary and grim look in his eyes I assume he had already guessed it.

My brother lets out a long sigh and rubs his face, supposedly thinking what to do next. He then nods and makes his way out of the library.

* * *

Hours later, well after midnight, I'm in the basement with several Order members, all of us gathered around the table.

Something has happened indeed. Something dreadful.

"There's been a mass breakout from Azkaban," Moody starts with a dark voice. "I only have a half an hour before I'm needed in the field again," He says gruffly, taking a large gulp of coffee.

There's anxious murmuring along the table. Everyone looks either frightened or shocked. Moody is the only Auror taking part in the meeting, since every other Auror has been called to work after the news had reached the Ministry.

"Who?" Lupin asks blankly.

"Ten Death Eaters," Moody grunts, and smacks a paper on the table. It's filled with black-and-white photographs of nine wizards and of one witch. I recognise my cousin. This can't be good.

There's gasps and troubled chattering along the table. I see a headline above the pictures and assume the paper's a drawing of tomorrows paper. When I read the headline, I curse inwardly.

I glance at my brother, whose nostrils are flaring. Yep. He's seen it as well.

Moody clears his throat and points at the paper. "Tomorrow's paper." He says simply. "Ministry's view is that Black is behind the breakout, and is aiding the escapees." He says, and my brother scoffs loudly and crosses his arms over his chest.

"You can't be serious!" Molly Weasley exclaims at Moony. Many others argue around the table as well.

Moody slaps his palm against the table. "Quiet everyone!" He takes a deep breath and continues, "The fact that they're putting the blame on Black shouldn't come as a surprise to us." He says wearily. "Now. I recommend each and every one of you stays in constant vigilance, and that you take care of your safety precautions. We will regroup later this week when Dumbledore is able to join us, to go over our plan. Until that we continue our shifts as normal, but cease any additional assignments." Moody concludes and many of the members nod in agreement, while others shake their heads in bewilderment, still stunned from the news.

It's almost two in the morning when the rest of the members leave. Lupin has head up to sleep in the guest room he often stays in, and I'm about to drag myself into my room, in my bed, when Sirius stops me in the entrance hall.

"You okay, Reggie?" He asks quietly. I take in his appearance. He looks worried. He's worried of my wellbeing.

I swallow. "Yeah, I suppose." I say, and then on an impulse I add, "And you?" I ask.

He threads his fingers through his hair, making it even shaggier than it was. I always thought the move was only an act for the ladies, because, well, I'm fairly sure they loved it. But now I see it as a stress sign.

"I dunno," He mutters finally, and I nod. I know how he feels. I'm worried as fuck, and I reckon he is too. And the unpleasant part is, we can't really do much. We're both stuck in this house, hiding from everyone. It's fucking frustrating.

We start walking up the stairs. "You want to have a go at duelling tomorrow?" I ask, surprised at my own words. I don't even know what made me say so. Perhaps because that is the only thing I can think of after finding out the events that occurred last night. Training our skills is beneficial, especially when the Dark Lord's forces have increased with ten more followers.

My brother glances at me from the corner of his eye, giving me a quizzical look. "Why?" He asks suspiciously.

I give him an incoherent shrug. "You suck at it."

He chuckles. I think he knows why I'm asking. I think he gets that I want to do  _something_. That I want him to do something as well.

My brother gives me a long look before he speaks. "I suppose we shall see then." He says shrewdly before we step onto the topmost landing and head towards our respective rooms.


	10. Unsteady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter this week! Slowly moving forward, following the events in OotP...Let me know what you think! :)

 

**Chapter: Unsteady**

**Hogwarts, January 8th 1996**

It's the first day of school after the holidays, and I already wish I could return to Grimmauld Place. By lunch I've explained to at least six members from DA, who have asked me the date for our next meeting, that I'll inform them about it as soon as I've worked it out. A persistent Zacharias Smith isn't satisfied, and I get to explain to him that I have to take remedial Potions, so I can settle the date after I know more about my weekly schedule. Of course, the twat looks at me like I'm actually stupid and wonders loudly how poorly I must be doing in Potions before leaving towards the Great Hall.

Ron promises to jinx Smith from my behalf, but even that doesn't help with my mood. But then we run into Cho.

I'm…I don't even…Shit. Hermione and Ron slip discreetly away, the good friends they are, and then I'm alone with her in the hallway. I swallow hard, my mind whirling as I try to figure out what to say to her.

She asks about my holiday, and I lamely reply with only a few words. I can't focus…Do I fancy her? I assume so, since all I can do is to stare at her lips. They're quite nice. Soft. Feminine.

Bollocks. My mind is wandering, and she's still talking, and I haven't heard a word. It has something to do with the upcoming Hogsmeade trip a couple of days after Valentine's Day. I do  _not_  read the situation very well, and only after she walks away with an abashed look on her face, I understand what she was implying. She wants me to ask her to go to the village with me. She wants me to ask her on a date.

"CHO!" I exclaim, and run after her.

She turns around and I stop in front of her, panting slightly. "I'm sorry. I, um…Would you like to go into Hogsmeade with me, on a date?" I ask, stumbling in my words a bit.

Her soft lips turn into a wide smile. "I'd like that," She says with a bashful look, her cheeks pink.

"Okay, great…That's sorted then. I'll um…I'll see you then. Or before that. Definitely before that. But not like, on a date. I mean, we'll see each other between classes, before our date." I mumble incoherently. So…did I mention how smoothly I express myself? Luckily Cho doesn't seem to care.

I'm grinning the whole way down to the Great Hall, to where I assume Ron and Hermione have gone, but before stepping inside, an odd feeling washes over me. I feel…almost guilty. Why is that?

I frown at the entrance as in my mind, the soft lips of Cho's transform into a pair belonging to someone else entirely. I wonder, would they be equally soft? But hard at the same time? Or demanding in a way that can be only achieved with…what, experience? One's personality?

Why am I even thinking about them? Why am I thinking about him?

My head is spinning, my scar is prickling, and I can feel a headache coming. I quickly turn around and walk towards the Gryffindor Tower, to my dormitory. I decide to skip lunch and rest for a bit before our afternoon classes. I'll need all my strength for tonight.

* * *

**Hogwarts, January 9th 1996**

Yesterday night was…utter rubbish. I hate him. Snape. He's teaching me to learn Occlumency, a skill that I could use to close my mind from intrusion. To shield myself against possession.

Generally speaking, Occlumency sounds reasonable, and I'm even slightly interested to learn about the mysterious branch of magic, but with Snape teaching it…let's just say, my curiosity might be fading rapidly.

Last night was something I hadn't been prepared to. I got to relive some of the most painful and embarrassing memories from my past. The worst was Cedric's death. And the Dementors attacking Sirius. I would not have wanted to see the highlights of my childhood under Uncle Vernon's brutal discipline either, along with a handful of other memories.

It seemed impossible to clear my head so that I could have blocked Snape out, especially when he was breathing in my neck, sneering and insulting me when he was not attacking my mind.

Although, I managed to get some information out of him, so I reckon it wasn't a completely fruitless session. I learned that I was inside the snake's mind – the one that attacked Arthur – only because that is where Voldemort was at that time. Voldemort had possessed the snake, and because I share his thoughts and his emotions through our connection, I saw everything. Snape told me that because Voldemort now knows about our connection, it is essential for me to learn to close my mind.

The most notable matter I learned during last night's session, was about the door. The door I've been constantly dreaming about. The door through which I want to walk, but I can't. Last night, I learned the door's location. Or actually, I remembered it. It is in the end of the corridor leading to the Department of Mysteries, in the Ministry of Magic.

All in all, my first Occlumency session left me raw and aching, feeling rather nauseated and with a lot of mixed-up information. Then, right before I lay down in my bed last night, I experienced something…something quite unnerving. Voldemort was happy. Really happy. I could feel his delight wash over me, taking over, and it was terrifying.

It was long after midnight before I finally fell asleep, my mind filled with questions and worry. Why was Voldemort feeling so ecstatic?

"Morning," I grunt as I slip down to sit next to Hermione in the Great Hall. It is rather early, and there are only a handful of students in the Gryffindor table.

She gives me a tender smile and pours me a glass of pumpkin juice. "You're up abnormally early. How did you sleep?" She asks softly and eyes me carefully.

I stifle a great yawn. "Not enough, apparently," I grumble in reply and reach for the teapot.

Hermione frowns. "What happened? Did you see something? Did your scar hurt during the night?" She asks, and I heave a sigh.

"No. I dunno," I say with a bit of frustration and take a long swig of hot tea. I had a raging headache throughout the night, and saw a mixture of odd dreams featuring a stormy sea, fire and the door inside the Ministry. Personally, I blame Snape for leaving my mind so open and vulnerable.

Hermione purses her lips and gives me a scrutinising look. "Harry…" She says and her features soften. "I wish you'd tell me what's going on with you…" She mutters quietly, her eyes searching mine.

"What do you mean? I tell you and Ron everything," I say with a hint of defiance in my voice as I snatch a piece of toast from the platter in the middle of the table, ignoring the small twinge of guilt I feel. I haven't exactly told them everything, have I?

Hermione stays quiet and worries her lip, eyeing me unsurely.

"Oh!" She suddenly exclaims, as if remembering something. "I forgot to ask, how did it go with Cho?" She asks, and I blink at her in reply.

"What?" I ask, wondering what is she talking about.

Hermione gives me a strange look. "Cho, yesterday, in the hallway? You remember? What did you talk about?" She asks with her brows slightly lifted, a small smile playing on her lips.

And then I remember. Yesterday, I was going to tell Ron and Hermione about the Hogsmeade trip I agreed to go on with Cho, but then I skipped lunch and nearly missed my afternoon classes, and somehow it slipped my mind. "Oh, um…yeah. We're going on a date. To Hogsmeade," I say simply, and she gives me even stranger look.

"Okay? And?" She presses on, and I frown at her in confusion.

"What?" I ask, not understanding what I am missing.

The look in her eyes shifts from incredulous to perplexed and then, slowly, her eyes widen. She looks as if she's contemplating what to say.

"Oh, nothing. Although, I've been meaning to ask…" She says vaguely, glancing around us. "…About you and Regulus."

I nearly choke on the gulp of tea in my mouth. I cough loudly, my eyes watering as Hermione claps me on my back.

"You alright, mate?" Ron quips as he drops to the bench opposite to us.

I manage to clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm okay," I wheeze, and give Hermione a wary look as Ron starts to load his plate.

Her expression displays worry, but I can see a hint of something in her eyes. Something that makes me very uncomfortable.

Thankfully, her attention turns to the arriving morning post. The Great Hall is filled with whooshing noise as the hundred or so owls circle around the large room, trying to find their recipients. Hermione accepts the Daily Prophet from the delivery owl and flips the paper open with a loud shriek.

"What?!" Ron and I both exclaim with dread. Many of our classmates who have only just arrived to breakfast eye us curiously.

Hermione places the paper flat on the table with trembling hands, and everyone around us stares at the moving pictures on the front page. Ten Death Eaters, sneering from their black-and-white photographs, have escaped from Azkaban.

"Bloody hell," Ron mutters from the opposite side of the table.

I bristle when I read the headlines. The Ministry is blaming Sirius of the breakout. I wonder how my godfather has taken the news.

And now I know the reason Voldemort was beside himself with joy last night.

* * *

**Hogwarts, February 17th 1996**

Weeks have gone by, and it has been a big load of crap, to put it mildly. Umbridge has taken control over Hogwarts; she's lurking in the corners, supervising most of the classes where she takes notes and judges the Professors' capability to teach their subjects.

My scar is hurting constantly, and I sense Voldemort more often and more intensely in my mind than I did before the holidays. I can actually feel what he is feeling most of the time. It's appalling. It's making me nauseated, and I'm beginning to suspect that my mind opening more easily has something to do with the Occlumency lessons. I feel like I've become more vulnerable, free to outside attacks. I'm dreaming about the door every night, and I can't help it. I can't stop, whatever I try. It's exhausting. Clearing my mind at nights does nothing.

The only thing that has brought me even a sliver of happiness, is the DA meetings. Every single member in our group has advanced in defensive and offensive magic. Everyone is working hard, understanding the necessity to be able to defend oneself. The mass-breakout from Azkaban certainly only improved everyone's determination.

Today is the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, and I've promised to take Cho there, on our first date. I manage to clean up a bit, and then I head downstairs for breakfast, feeling quite nervous. Hermione pesters me to meet her at the Three Broomsticks around midday, but she doesn't tell me why. I promise her I'll be there, although a bit disinclined, since I haven't yet asked Cho if she's okay with that.

Hermione, Ron and I walk together into the Entrance Hall, where Hermione says her goodbyes to us before leaving towards Hogsmeade. Ron too leaves through the oak front doors towards Quidditch practice while I stay to wait for Cho. I feel a pang of jealousy as I stare at my friend's retreating back. I wish I could play Quidditch. I wish I could at least fly, but I can't because my broom is confiscated. Because of Umbridge. God I miss flying.

"Hey Harry," Cho murmurs next to me, eyeing me shyly. I almost wince from surprise, but manage to give her a nervous grin instead. She looks beautiful. Should I say it to her? Or would it sound too eager?

"Um…Hey. So, er….Shall we?" I say eventually, and glance at the doors.

She nods and takes my hand, guiding me outside. It feels…strange. I dunno…good, perhaps? Her hand is warm, and her fingertips rest smoothly against my knuckles. We start walking along the path towards the village. Minutes go by, and I take in our surroundings, eyeing the snow toppled trees with interest as well as the students in front of us, laughing whilst throwing snow at each other.

Should I say something? Circe, this is awkward.

I'm relieved when Cho starts talking about Quidditch, and then I remember that she too plays the sport. Suddenly our conversation flows easily, and I feel slightly ridiculous for thinking that going on a date with her would've been uncomfortable or difficult.

We eventually reach the village and browse through the shop windows for a while until it starts to snow heavily. We take refuge in a small teashop I haven't visited earlier, but instantly know I'll never set a foot in again. The place is packed, with tiny tables for two, and everything is decorated with lace and pink embellishments. I notice that in almost every table there's a couple holding hands. I suppress a shiver of discomfort and follow Cho to one of the small round tables.

"So, er…" I mutter and glance around us.

Cho eyes me and the place with a sweet smile. "Cute, isn't it?"

It's horrible. "Yeah, um…I guess so…" I say unsurely, presuming she might be offended if I told her how the place actually gives me the same kind of creeps as Umbridge's office does.

The matron, Madam Puddifoot, pushes past the narrow space between the small tables and stops next to ours. "What can I get you, m'dears?" She asks with a kind voice, glancing over the teashop before looking at us again.

Cho gives her a familiar smile and orders us two coffees. Does she come here a lot? And is she holding hands with her dates during coffee? I groan inwardly when I notice that Roger Davies and his date start to snog at the table next to us. I quickly look away and stare outside from the window. Merlin, I can hear the smacking sounds their lips make. The air feels a bit suffocating, and I realise my face is heating up.

"So…Umbridge's a bitch," Cho says and god, I could just hug her for bringing up a subject I can grab onto and ignore the unpleasant sounds Rogers and his girlfriend make.

I grin at her. "She's one of a kind. I wonder if she's secretly a Squib, you know?" I say with a hint of amusement.

Cho nods eagerly. "Yeah, probably. Would explain how she never wants us to use magic. Because she couldn't then control us," she says thoughtfully.

We trade a couple more spiteful thoughts about our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor before we fall into silence. The subject is thoroughly covered in our DA meetings after all.

I try to ignore the activities occurring at the next table and suddenly remember that Hermione requested me to meet her at the Three Broomsticks. "Um…Hermione asked me to meet her at the Three Broomsticks at lunchtime. Do you want to come with me?"

Cho gives me a disbelieving look. "You're meeting Hermione Granger? Today?"

I frown at her. "Yeah. Well, she asked me to, so I thought I would. D'you want to come with me? She said it wouldn't matter if you did."

Cho narrows her eyes at me. "Oh…well…that was nice of her," she says, her voice as chilling as the look in her eyes.

Another silence between us, and Cho seems to be more interested in looking at Roger Davies and his date than hers.

"He asked me out, you know," she says quietly, not looking at me. "A couple of weeks ago. Roger. I turned him down, though."

I lift my brows at her, feeling confused. Why is she here with me then, if she'd rather be with Davies?

"I came in here with Cedric last year," Cho says, looking through the window with a wistful expression.

She has got to be kidding me. She's bringing up Cedric? Now? On our date?

Cho takes in a stuttering breath. "I've been meaning to ask you for ages…did Cedric…did he, um…mention me at all before he died?" She asks, her voice barely a whisper.

I stare into her eyes, which are brimming up with tears. I swallow hard. I can't talk about it. About him. Even her bringing him up like this makes me almost see the flash of green, the high voice of Voldemort when he ordered Wormtail to…No. I can't. I can't think about it.

I look away. "No. There…there wasn't time for him to say anything," I say tightly. "Erm…so…d'you…d'you get to see a lot of Quidditch in the holidays? You support the Tornados, right?" I ask, trying to change the subject before neither of us breaks down.

Too late. She's already crying silently. I suppress a weary sigh. "Look," I say hesitantly, "let's not talk about Cedric right now…let's talk about something else, yeah?"

Cho's eyes turn cold. "I thought you'd understand!" She snaps, her tears now flowing more freely. "I need to talk about it! Surely you n-need to talk about it t-too!" She says loudly, her voice stuttering. "I mean, you saw it happen, d-didn't you?"

Shit. Everyone is watching us. Everyone probably knows of whom she is talking about.

A shiver of discomfort trails down my spine. "Well…I have talked about it," I say quietly to her, "to Ron and Hermione, but –"

She lets out a shriek of outrage. "Oh, you'll talk to Hermione Granger!" She says angrily, looking very much insulted. "But you won't talk to me! P-perhaps it would be best if we just…just p-paid and you went and met up with Hermione G-Granger, like you obviously want to!" She says with a trembling voice, her face now wet with tears.

My mind whirls in panic as I try to find the right words, as I try to figure out what did I do wrong. "Um…Cho?" I manage to say, but she shakes her head, brushing her tears away.

"You should go, Harry," she says with a sniff. "I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me…how many are you meeting after Hermione?" She asks coldly, her previously soft lips turned into a frown.

I stare at her in disbelief. "It's not like that!" I say, and then realise that she's hurt because I had arranged a meeting with Hermione even though I'm on a date with her. She thinks that I'm seeing other girls as well, and the thought is so ridiculous that a chuckle escapes my mouth.

Oh no. I groan inwardly as she stands up quickly, her eyes glaring at me.

"I'll see you around, Harry," she says harshly before rushing towards the door, away from the horrible teashop, away from me. I try to call after her but there's no use. She's already gone.

Brilliant. With a great sigh, I put a Galleon on the table and follow her out to the main street, ignoring the dirty looks most of the people are sending towards me.

It's still snowing hard, and the streets are empty. A mix of confusion, annoyance and relief fill me as I mentally go over the past hour, trying to figure out what went wrong. Why did she mention Davies? And why in the Merlin did she have to bring up Cedric? Did she honestly think that we could discuss Cedric's death over a nice cup of coffee? What was she thinking?

With an audible growl, I make my way towards the Three Broomsticks, hoping Hermione will be there already since I'm rather sure I'm early. As I step inside the pub, I stumble onto Hagrid, who is heading out. We exchange a couple of words and after Hagrid leaves, I finally find Hermione. She's with Luna Lovegood and…Rita Skeeter, an ex-journalist who wrote a bunch of utter shite about me in the Daily Prophet last year.

What the hell is Hermione doing with her?

Hermione explains everything to me, and it turns out that she wants Skeeter to interview me. She wants me to tell Skeeter everything that happened in the beginning of last summer, when Cedric died, when Voldemort was resurrected. Every last detail. And Luna's father will publish the story in his magazine, the Quibbler. The whole idea is as horrifying as it is thrilling.

So, I go ahead and tell Skeeter everything.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, February 26th 1996**

_I'm slowly waking up, and I can feel the sun warming my face through the window. Who the fuck opened the curtains? Then my neck tingles, and my insides warm pleasantly. Something smooths down my chest, over my ribcage, brushing my hipbone. Fuck, it feels so good._

_"Mmm…" I hum sleepily, enjoying the soft touches and…lips against my neck?_

_The said lips suck the skin below my jaw, and I actually let out a gasp while all the blood in my body rushes downwards. Right to my prick._

_"W-What?" I mumble and blink, squinting at the other person supposedly sharing my bed._

_A jet-black hair, unkempt and unruly. Impossibly green eyes._

I wake up with a jolt to a loud banging on my door.

"Oi! REGGIE!"

What the hell? I jump up from my bed, my legs tangling in my sheets, and eventually land on the floor with a thud and a muffled groan. It takes me a moment to realise where I am, and who's howling behind the door. The room is dark, but I can see the sun shining brightly from the small gap between the heavy curtains. What time is it?

"Sirius?" I grunt as I stand up and throw the sheets back to the bed. To my empty bed. Like it should be. I shake my head and drag myself to the door and open it, blinking as the sharp light from the landing hits my eyes.

"Just came to see if you're still alive, brother, given that you usually wake up a couple of hours before me, at least," My brother says lightly and gives me a once over. Suddenly his expression shifts into a sly amusement.

Supposedly, he's taken notice of the strain in my pants. I roll my eyes at him. "Did you have something to say or did you come here to gape at my dick?" I ask with irritation, shifting slightly behind the door.

Sirius barks a laugh. "I'm clearly interrupting something," He says cheerfully. "Have at it, then. Breakfast awaits downstairs."

"I'm not – " I start but he cuts me off.

"No, no…you go ahead and finish and we'll talk later," My brother says with a teasing wink and turns to head downstairs, chuckling as he goes.

"Dickhead," I mutter at his back.

Sirius turns to look at me with a gleeful smile. "Says the wanker."

I groan and turn back into my room, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary, and hear my brother laughing mercilessly in the stairs.

I don't know what surprises me more; that I'm not having nightmares because of the locket or that I'm dreaming about Potter instead.

* * *

"What are you two reading?" I ask from my brother and Lupin as I enter the kitchen half an hour later, freshly showered and well-dressed. Both men are hunching over a magazine that is propped up against the teapot, staring its pages intently while sipping coffee and tea from their cups.

"What the fuck is a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?" I ask as I squint at the back cover of the rag. A familiar pair of green eyes blink back at me behind the teapot. His face is taking a whole page.

Fuck. Images from my last night's dream surge to the forefront of my mind. My ears are drumming, and I press my eyes shut for a second, trying to clear my mind. As I open them, I notice Lupin eyeing me with a contemplative look.

"Good morning, Regulus," Lupin greets me kindly. I grunt in reply and move towards the table to sit down opposite to them.

Sirius glances at me, a smirk playing on his lips, evidently the earlier encounter still fresh in his mind. "Dunno what's a Snorkack, but that's not what we're reading about," he says and glances at the paper. "It's – "

"Potter," I say hoarsely, and both my brother and Lupin give me strange look. I clear my throat. "Potter, I presume?" I ask, managing a neutral tone.

My brother shoves a sausage into his mouth and swallows after a couple of chews. "Yeah. Harry's made an interview with Skeeter…" He says, and I'm mildly interested.

"About?" I ask, aiming for nonchalance.

Kreacher emerges then from the pantry, a look of delight on its face. The elf snaps its fingers and an assortment of breakfast items appear in front of me. I thank my elf, taking note how it seems more happier, healthier now than it did when I came here nearly seven months ago.

"See for yourself," Sirius says and throws the rag in front of me.

I glance at the cover, at his face. He's grinning shyly back, and I have to tear my eyes from his face before my brother and Lupin start suspecting anything. The headline says he's telling the truth about the Dark Lord and the night of his resurrection.

Well, now I'm intrigued.

I flip the correct page open, and start reading. I vaguely notice my brother and Lupin leaving the kitchen on some point, but don't bother glancing up.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, March 2nd 1996**

Another Order meeting. Another hour or so about Death Eater sightings, Ministry news, and it all seems to be the same. Nothing's happening, but still something is. The Order has finally decided that I'm trustworthy and they tell me what exactly are they guarding at the Ministry. A prophecy. A prophecy about Potter and the Dark Lord, about their fates. I'm told that no one knows what it says, but I doubt it. Prophecies are often made to someone, and it seems foolish to put so much effort on something they are not sure about, not when the Order is already short of operatives.

Severus lingers in the kitchen after the meeting, and I've already seen it in his expressionless black eyes. He's seen something. I didn't have a doubt, really, since I didn't expect Potter to be any resistance to him.

After everyone else leaves, I flick my wand to the door for some privacy spells and turn calmly towards him.

Severus's lips turn into a sly smirk. "You are full of surprises, Regulus," He drawls and takes a seat at the table.

I roll my eyes, refusing to be ashamed. Nothing has happened. "Well? Say what you wanted to say about it," I say blankly, not showing any emotion to him as I sit down opposite to him.

Severus lets out a dry chuckle. "Potter...Really?" He asks with a mocking voice, his eyes shining with glee.

I arch a brow at him. "I seem to remember someone coveting his mother," I say dryly. I'm not really coveting Potter, am I? I realise my mistake when Severus's smirk widens.

Fuck.

Although, I should be glad that the only memories he has been able to rifle through are Potter's. Sure, he has seen many things in my mind, but every single one has been something that I intended for him to see.

He shrugs, eyeing me with a triumphant look. "At least we were the same age. And she wasn't as useless as her husband or son," he says with slight contempt.

I shake my head in disbelief. "You truly ought to get over it, Sev…" I mutter, and he sends me a glare in reply.

"You should keep your distance to the boy," He says darkly, a hint of sneer on his face.

I arch a brow at him. "And why is that?" I say plainly, not bothering to point out that his statement is irrelevant. I haven't seen the boy after he returned to Hogwarts.

Severus's lips twitch slightly with amusement. "Don't play stupid with me, Black. We both know the boy is dangerous," He says slowly. "The connection to the Dark Lord is stronger, I have felt it," He says, his dark eyes unreadable. "By socialising with Potter, you take the risk of exposing your existence."

"Oh? Didn't know you cared, Sev," I say with a provoking smile.

He narrows his eyes at me. "I don't. Because I'm not as ignorant and moronic as your brother and his imbecile friends, and I advise you refrain to be so as well," He says harshly and stands up to leave.

I stare at him silently before I speak. "Perhaps they know something we don't," I say quietly, and we both know what I am talking about. Sev and I have always lived by guarding our hearts. Numbing the feelings of affection, closing ourselves from others. That is the only way to be a Death Eater.

"Trust me, they don't." Severus says tightly. "It's a weakness neither of us wishes," He says with a grim look and leaves the room.


	11. Family Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) Please review!

 

**Chapter 11: Family Tree**

**Hogwarts, March 13th 1996**

"Get up, Potter," Snape drawls with an oily voice as I lie face down against the cold dungeon floor, panting slightly.

I scramble up, scowling at him as he has managed to send me tumbling to the ground yet again. This time I've seen a handful of memories I didn't even remember existed, mostly of Dudley and his gang bothering me.

"That last memory," Snape says suspiciously. "What was it?"

I rack my brain and try to remember the last memory he viewed through the headache that is threatening to take over. "I don't know," I say wearily as I straighten my glasses. "You mean the one where my cousin tried to make me stand in the toilet?"

Snape arches a brow at me. "No," he says with a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "I mean the one with a man kneeling in the middle of a darkened room…" he says with a pointed look.

I swallow hard. Rookwood. Snape has seen the vision I had some nights ago about Rookwood and Voldemort, and…the weapon. "It's…er…nothing," I say nonchalantly.

Snape narrows his eyes at me and I look quickly away, even though I suspect that he could successfully use Legilimency without making eye contact.

"How do that man and that room come to be inside your head, Potter?" Snape asks darkly.

"It was just a dream," I mutter and fix my gaze at the parchment scrolls on Snape's desk.

"A dream?" Snape says threateningly. There's a short, uncomfortable silence before he speaks again, "You do know why we are here, don't you, Potter?" he asks with a cold voice. "You do know why I am giving up my evenings to this tedious job?"

I give him a jerky nod. "Yes."

"Remind me why we are here, Potter," he says silkily.

"So I can learn Occlumency," I say, frowning at the floor.

"Correct, Potter. And dim though you may be, I would have thought that after over two months of lessons you might have made some progress. How many other dreams about the Dark Lord have you had?" He asks, and I send him a quick glare.

"Just that one," I say stubbornly.

Snape eyes me speculatively before he speaks. "Perhaps…perhaps you actually enjoy having these visions and dreams, Potter. Maybe they make you feel special…important?" He asks tauntingly.

I grit my teeth together. "No, they don't," I say tightly, my hands clenched into fists.

"That is just as well, Potter," he continues menacingly, "because you are neither special nor important, and it is not up to you to find out what the Dark Lord is saying to his Death Eaters."

Rage surges inside me. "No, that's your job, isn't it?" I blurt, and instantly regret it.

The room temperature seems to drop as Snape eyes me with a chilling look. He speaks after a short silence, his voice soft even though his eyes are burning with anger, "Yes, Potter. That is my job. Now, if you are ready, we will start again."

"One…two…three…Legilimens!" He says, and of course I haven't prepared myself for his attack.

I try to close my mind as a memory of hundred Dementors approaching me takes over my mind, their breathing rattling as they reach for me. I manage to lift my wand and cast a Shield Charm, and send Snape staggering backwards. His wand soars through the air, away from us, and then the strangest of visions fill my head.

A small, dark-haired boy with a tear-stained face, hovering in the corner of a sitting room, clutching a worn plush toy. A greasy-haired teenager watching others from the shadows, trying not to be seen by anyone.

"ENOUGH!" Snape yells and sends me crashing towards the shelves behind me, causing several glass jars with miscellaneous potions ingredients shatter to the floor as I hit them.

Snape stares at me with his eyes widened in surprise, his hand shaking as he summons his wand back. He flicks it to the mess in my feet, vanishing and repairing the damage. "Well, Potter…that was certainly an improvement…" he says, slightly out of breath. "I don't remember telling you to use a Shield Charm…but there is no doubt that it was effective…" He says simply, eyeing me with a speculative look.

I don't dare to speak. I'm rather sure I've just been inside Snape's head and seen memories from his childhood.

"Let's try again, shall we?" He says darkly.

Bollocks. I'm certainly going to pay for what I did. I clear my mind as Snape counts to three, and there's no use closing my mind. He enters my memories effortlessly, and I'm back in the Department of Mysteries, approaching the closed door I've dreamt so many times. But this time the door is open, and a mysterious blue light is glowing inside the room.

"POTTER!" Snape yells, anger evident in his voice.

I open my eyes, not recalling how did I end up on my back, lying on the floor, panting as if I've run a marathon.

"Explain yourself!" Snape snaps, glaring at me. He starts to rant about how I'm not even trying, how I'm not taking this seriously, how utterly lazy and ungrateful I am. I'm about to retort when suddenly, a loud screaming noise reaches our ears.

"What the…?" Snape mutters, both our eyes fixed on the ceiling. Another scream. We glance at each other silently before promptly leaving the dungeons.

As I reach the Entrance Hall, I find it packed with students who are circling Professor Trelawney and…Umbridge, who is apparently sacking Trelawney and banishing her from Hogwarts. McGonagall steps in to help Trelawney, and eventually Dumbledore appears and informs the toad-faced woman that he has hired a new Divination teacher, and as the Headmaster, he has the authority to give Trelawney permission to continue to live at Hogwarts. Umbridge looks like she's swallowing a mouthful of bile. She most certainly will not let this one slide.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, March 15th 1996**

I wake up with a cold sheen of sweat on my skin. It takes a couple of moments to realise what I saw in my dream did not happen, even though it felt so real. I take a deep breath and rub my face, trying to remember the details of my dream.

My brother and I were caught by the Dark Lord. We were questioned and tortured in the customary way, but then the Dark Lord invaded my mind, and found out something. Something I'm now straining to remember. I remember screaming. I remember feeling terrified. But I can't remember why. Perhaps it was the Horcrux?

I turn to glare at my bedside table. The locket is still there, pulsing with dark magic, poisoning my sleep, making me anxious. I've recently dreamt more and more about people suffering and being tortured. My parents, my brother, myself, even Potter. It's exhausting. I'm frustrated because there's nothing to do with the locket. I can't destroy it, since it is somehow protected against Death Eaters. I wince inwardly as I remember the burnt flesh on my skin under the mark after I tried cursing the locket. And even though I'd be able to fight through the pain without passing out, I haven't got any means to destroy a Horcrux.

The only way has to be Fiendfyre, I'm quite sure of it, but I can't practice the curse without someone who can put the flames out if I don't succeed doing it. I can't practice it without risking the cursed fire of going out of control. And I don't know anyone who could help me. I'm fucked.

I crawl out of my bed with a small groan and head to my bathroom for a long shower.

An hour later, I'm in the middle of my breakfast tea as Sirius steps into the kitchen.

"Morning," He grunts and flops onto the bench across me, snatching the coffee pot and pouring himself a large cup of coffee.

"Good morning, brother," I say casually, feeling slightly amused by his bleary and rumpled look.

Sirius arches a brow at me before he tucks into his breakfast.

I browse the last pages of today's Prophet, which is rather pointless since the paper is filled with garbage nowadays.

"You've been busy," I say and throw the paper in front of my brother.

A large part of the front page is dedicated to my brother, his appalling mugshot filling the page, a headline 'Black sighted' screaming on top of it. The story continues on the next page, with eyewitnesses' testimonies how my brother has been seen in several muggle towns in the past three months.

Sirius glances at the paper and lets out a dry laugh. "They must be getting desperate. I mean," he says and peers at the second page, "what in the name of Merlin would I be doing in Bicester?" He asks and smirks at me. "Half of these are completely fabricated," he continues with an incredulous shake of his head.

I lift my brows at him. "And the other half?"

My brother merely shrugs at me. "What of it?"

I scoff. "You are careless, did you know that?" I ask and take a sip from my tea. And not to mention, going out against the Order's wishes.

Sirius rolls his eyes. "I'd go mental if I couldn't step outside every now and then. Besides, I haven't been seen anywhere near London," He says wearily, simultaneously tearing his toast into tiny pieces onto his plate.

I suppress the urge to comment on the possibility of his insanity. "Right," I say instead, feeling too tired to chastise him.

"Moony and Dora are coming later today," My brother announces after snatching another toast from the basket on the table.

I arch a brow at him. "Why?"

"Moony's birthday," Sirius announces cheerfully. "Well, it was last week, actually, but he was on a mission then."

I stare at my brother. "So…?"

Sirius smirks. "So. Blind drunk it is," He says with a wink and stands up. "Participating is mandatory," he says pointedly and leaves the kitchen, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

"Ooh, can we play a drinking game?" Nymphadora asks as soon as we sit down in the library seating area. She takes two Firewhiskey shots from Sirius's outstretched hand and plops down on the couch next to Lupin, handing him the other one. "Do we have Veritaserum?" She asks with a sly grin.

Lupin shakes his head with amusement while my brother and I object hastily.

Nymphadora narrows her eyes at us, looking intrigued. She tosses down the shot and makes a face.

"Okay, old people, and…well… _little_  cousin," She says and throws me a quick grin, "What now?"

Sirius smirks at our cousin. "Now…nothing! We enjoy our drinks and the company. Welcome to the adulthood, Dora," he says, toasting her before taking a hefty sip. "Be sure to take some notes since Moony's not going to get any younger," He adds with a wide grin, while the three of us either roll our eyes or shake our heads in exasperation.

I throw back my whole drink and place the glass onto the coffee table, coughing slightly. "Thank you for the drink. Many happy returns," I say blankly at Lupin before I make a move to stand up.

Lupin nods at me, while my brother and Nymphadora make objecting sounds.

"Where do you think you're going?" My cousin asks with a demanding voice, her pink eyebrows arched high on her forehead.

I clear my throat and smile politely at her. "I'm in a desperate need of a beauty sleep, cousin," I say snarkily, but she stops me by lifting her hand.

"Nope. If I'm required to merely sit and drink, then you, dear cousin, are too," She says with a pointed look, levitating the bottle of Firewhiskey towards her and pouring herself another drink before filling my glass again.

We stare at each other for a moment before I sigh and lean back against the armchair while Sirius and Lupin chuckle lightly.

There's a short silence during which we all merely sip our drinks.

"…So, Reggie…Have you and Vance rekindled your… _friendship_ yet?" My brother asks with a sly look in his eyes.

I arch a brow at him and swear inwardly. I thought Emmie and I had been discreet enough for everyone else to be oblivious that we were…well, that there was something between us.

Nymphadora laughs. "A-ha! I  _knew_  I had a sneaking suspicion for a reason," she says triumphantly. "The way you two gawk at each other and trade jibes, well, it's rather obvious, actually…" She continues, looking thoughtful.

I scoff. "I'm afraid we haven't. And even if we did, you'd be the last person to know," I say to my brother with a honeyed tone, while he, Nymphadora and Lupin are all cracking up like some bloody morons. "Well, that applies to the three of you…" I add while narrowing my eyes at their sniggering.

The truth is, I have thought about it a lot lately. I've thought about her, about our short-lived liaison during our Hogwarts years. I've tried to figure out if the thought of her would rouse any feelings that have perhaps subsided. I've thought about her, because otherwise, I'd think about  _him_.

"Oh? Well, I definitely must invite her the next time we're having a little get together," Sirius says with a sly grin, sipping his drink.

I roll my eyes at him but say nothing.

Two hours later, my brother and I are by ourselves in the library, in a middle of a deep discussion about our father and how he was in our childhood. Nymphadora and Lupin have excused themselves some time ago, and I'm assuming they're not coming back from their 'quick stop by the kitchen for a few snacks and drinks'.

"I reckon it was mostly grandfather Pollux's… _subtle_  encouragements to embrace our blood purity," Sirius says with a mirthless laugh.

I grimace, remembering exactly what resulted from defying him. "Yeah. Well, you should've kept your mouth shut," I say bitterly, the images of the first Christmas after my brother had started Hogwarts fluttering into the forefront of my mind. First-year-Sirius was filled with that annoying and heedless Gryffindor pride, boasting about equality and how our family was being misled. Grandfather Pollux was enraged, demanding our father to beat his own son up in front of the family, in order to purge my brother's mind.

Father was never the same after that. Yes, our parents had been strict with us – well, mostly with my brother – during our childhood. But that incident was clearly a turning point. Father became absent, began drinking and drawing away from the rest of us, preferring his own company. Mother started to listen her father more, started to lean on him. Started to embrace his views.

And yet, Sirius never changed. It was like he was asking for it. He knew what mother and grandfather, and even our father would do, how they'd react. But my brother still resisted them. Needless to say, he got beat up a lot, mentally and physically, before he eventually ran away to live with the Potters.

My brother lets out a weary sigh. "You know what they say…Parents kill more dreams than anybody," he says darkly.

I shake my head and look away from him. "Don't." I mutter. Of course, I don't blame my brother for anything. I know he was a victim of abuse. I just don't know if have it in me to go through it anymore.

From the corner of my eye, I see my brother drawing a long swig straight from the Firewhiskey bottle. I swallow hard before I clear my throat, my eyes fixed at the glowing embers of the fire. "Did you really hate me?" I ask quietly, Potter's words echoing in my head. I know Potter was most likely exaggerating, or perhaps my brother was when he had said the words to Potter. But for some reason, they have come back to haunt me.

Sirius grunts as if his thoughts are interrupted. "…Did I what?" He asks with a bewildered look.

I shrug at him. "Hate me. For not staying by your side. For siding with them. For joining  _him_ ," I say and study his reaction carefully.

My brother blinks a couple of times, a deep frown taking over his features, as if he's contemplating his answer. "Yes and no," He says, licking his lips. "I didn't understand it then, but I do now. We're not the same, Reggie. But still, whatever you do, you're still my brother." He says intently, his dark grey eyes brimming with emotion.

* * *

**Hogwarts, March 29th 1996**

A couple of weeks have passed and everything has changed. We got caught - the DA. It's over now.

Marietta Edgecombe, Cho's friend, ratted us out to Umbridge, causing Dumbledore to flee from the castle after taking the fault. Because of her, Umbridge is now the Headmaster. Because of her, the one thing that was keeping me sane in this place is gone.

Umbridge is certainly satisfied now. With Dumbledore out of her way, she can make the rules now, and there's no one stopping her anymore. Well, at least her first days as a Headmaster weren't easy. Fred and George set loose a large selection of fireworks of their own design, and really created a mayhem in the school. Professors, students, and even ghosts were making Umbridge run around the castle, not even trying to help her to keep order as the fireworks were causing a big mess.

We decided to hold a party in Fred and George's honour today, and the common room is packed. But unfortunately, I can't let myself enjoy it. As I stare into the warm fire, my mind wanders to what I witnessed only hours ago at Snape's office.

I saw my father, Sirius, Remus, Pettigrew and my mother. It was strange to see him, my dad. He looked just like me. But now it seems that our looks are the only trait we share, since we are nothing alike otherwise. What I saw at Snape's office was Snape's memory of them. Snape's memory of being bullied by my father and his friends. My father hung Snape by his ankles to show off, to…to please Sirius. I can't even believe it's true! Everything Snape has said about my father seems more or more the truth, and it's unbearable, a nagging feeling fluttering around in my head.

"Blimey, Harry! …Heard what Hermione said to Fred and George?" Ron says excitedly as he drops down on the couch next to me.

I'm startled from my musings and blink at Ron a couple of times before I register what he's just said to me. "Huh?"

Ron smirks. "Said that they were brilliant," he says with amusement and pops a couple of Bertie Botts into his mouth.

I grin at him, remembering the rebellious look on Hermione as she'd seen Umbridge's reaction to the fireworks. "Well, they are brilliant, aren't they?" I say lightly, trying to push away the bitter thoughts still circling my mind.

Ron hums in agreement and then frowns at me. "Alright, mate?" Ron asks, eyeing me warily.

I shrug and rub the bridge of my nose under my glasses. I give him an insignificant grunt in reply.

He eyes me with a contemplative look for a bit. "Is it Cho?" He asks carefully, sipping his Butterbeer, his eyes never leaving me.

I groan inwardly. I almost forgot about Cho in the midst of other events. We had an argument about Marietta, and how she betrayed us. I think Cho and I are done – or if there ever was us, I can't say. Whatever it was between us, I know I can't be with her, it just doesn't feel right. I feel like…like we don't understand each other. I don't know if it has more to do with her still mourning Cedric, or her siding with Marietta, who sold us to Umbridge. I feel like Hermione and Ron are the only ones who understand me, and even they have troubles doing so every now and then.

"How'd you guess?" I ask and let out a long sigh.

Ron looks slightly uncomfortable. "She was, um…"

I want to roll my eyes. "Crying?" I ask tightly.

Ron nods with a grimace.

"If I'd get a sickle every time she did that…" I mutter and take the Butterbeer Ron offers me and uncork it.

Ron lets out an amused sound and we sip our drinks in silence. I look at the far corner of the common room, where Fred and George are taking orders from their housemates, enthusiastically talking about their newest product; Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs.

With a huff, Hermione sits down on the couch to my other side. "Can't believe they're taking orders from their classmates…And Fred said that they used all their fireworks for their prank the day before. How do they even have the means to produce more products?" She rambles, looking slightly annoyed and bewildered.

Of course they have the means. They have the gold I gave them at the end of last year. Although, that is something I'm not going to tell to the others.

"…And I certainly hope they're not foolish enough to work under Umbridge's nose," she continues, chewing the inside of her cheek with a hint of worry in her expression.

Ron waves aside her doubts. "C'mon, Mione, you know they're smarter than that…I mean, have they ever been caught from creating or carrying banned stuff in school?" He asks easily.

I remember the sizes of their files in Filtch's office. They were enormous. Both Hermione and I give Ron an incredulous look.

Ron grimaces. "Bloody hell. Yeah. So…basically they're done for."

"Yep," I say, while Hermione nods.

Ron groans. "Mum's gonna murder me…Well, first, she's gonna murder them, but then she'll come for me for not keeping them in check," He says wearily and stands up. "I need to go and try to talk some sense in them," He mutters and heads towards his brothers, who are in the middle of discussion with a suspicious looking Neville.

There's a short silence, during which Hermione eyes me while chewing the inside of her cheek. "So, um…How are things with…Cho?" Hermione asks carefully.

I look at her and arch a brow. "I take it you know already?" I ask resignedly.

Hermione sighs and nods slowly. "Yes. I saw her at the girls' bathroom on the third floor on my way here," she says gently. "Heard her telling her friends that you two were fighting…That you…are not dating anymore?" She asks hesitantly, eyeing me curiously.

I let out a huff. "Well, that's new to me. Didn't even know we were dating. Or that we broke up, for that matter…" I say dryly. "But yeah, we had an argument. And I still can't believe how she's choosing her friend's side in this. Marietta's. I just can't..." I say with frustration.

Hermione gives me an understanding smile. "I know, Harry…" She says softly and then worries her lip before she speaks again. "So…what are you going to do about it?"

I lift my brows at her. "Um…nothing? I don't really see any point of doing anything. It didn't really go well in the first place, so why bother fixing something that will never happen?"

"Oh?" Hermione asks, looking intrigued and surprised.

I shrug. "Yeah."

Hermione stares at me with a contemplative look.

"What?" I ask, feeling slightly uncomfortable under her gaze.

She gives me a searching look. "Does this…um…have something to do with…someone else?" She asks quietly.

I frown at her. "What? No," I say, feeling slightly puzzled. "What do you mean?" I ask and take a sip from my Butterbeer. Is she talking about Cedric? That Cho's still not over him? 

Hermione arches a brow and looks exasperated. "Oh, you know very well whom I'm talking about," She says simply, and I feel a sharp tug of unease in my stomach.

A memory flickers into the forefront of my mind. An afternoon at Grimmauld place; the stuffy smell of the drawing room, a pair of steel grey eyes with a scorching gaze. And the various feelings surging inside me…

"Bloody hell…" I mutter, and I can feel my face reddening under her knowing gaze. "You're not going to let that go, are you?" I ask quietly and look away from her, gritting my teeth with irritation.

She clears her throat and stays silent for a while, supposedly thinking of her next words.

"Harry…" She then says, placatingly. "I just wanted to say that you can talk to me about it…About him."

I glance around us and then look at her. "I don't really know what to say…" I say and swallow hard. What can I say? Something happened, with…with him. I haven't figured it out myself, and every time I try, I somehow end up pushing the thoughts back into the dark corner of my mind.

"Well…um…do you…like him?" She asks quietly.

I sigh and stare at Lavender and Parvati, who are in a middle of a rather promiscuous dance routine on the makeshift dancefloor.

Hermione huffs when she sees them. "Godric, they are imprudent," she says with a distasteful look, rolling her eyes at Dean and Seamus who ogle them without abashment. And as I look around, I see they're not the only ones. Ron too is eyeing the girls with an enthralled look in his eyes. As soon as Hermione sees him, she goes stiff, her knuckles whitening as she grips the edge of the sofa.

I shake my head slightly, supposedly reading the situation correctly. I know there's more to Hermione's and Ron's relationship than just being friends. But I'm not sure if the two of them know that yet.

Hermione clears her throat and tears her eyes away from the scene. "Well?" She asks and gives me a scrutinising look.

I chew the inside of my cheek, trying to think of what to say. I decide to go with the truth, since I know very well that she's the only one who could possibly solve the mystery with me. "I don't know. I think so. I mean…I haven't…I'm not…um…" I stammer. It can't be this hard to say out loud.

Hermione stares at me patiently, waiting for me to say it. I let out a long sigh and rub my neck. "I didn't know I'd be into blokes," I say, almost inaudibly, even though there are no one around us and there's music playing rather loud. I don't even know how should I feel about the thought.

Hermione nods slowly. "Because you liked Cho as well?" She asks carefully.

I shrug. "Yeah. And I don't know if I should just forget about the whole thing…"

Hermione frowns. "Do you want to?"

"No…I've tried, though. But somehow, he keeps creeping back into my mind," I say wearily. I'm actually amazed that Snape hasn't been able to catch my thoughts and memories regarding him.

Hermione nods thoughtfully, and eyes me hesitantly. "Did something happen between you two? Did you…um… _did you kiss_?" She asks, whispering the latter part.

I feel my cheeks heating up. "Erm…Not exactly. I mean, if you wouldn't have come then, I think we might've…" I mutter awkwardly.

"Oh." Hermione says quietly. "Yes, well…I thought it was something like that…"

I lean forward, my elbows against my knees and rub my eyes with my palms, letting out a small groan. "I don't know what to do. What to think. It's all a bloody mess, Hermione," I say with a slightly shaky voice, and glance at her.

She brushes her hand over my shoulders, a small smile on her lips. "Well, just so you know, if you are into boys, it doesn't change anything." She says shrewdly, and then worries her lip. "But what should you do about it, I can't say. You probably can't do much, since you can't really contact him and because we're staying here for Easter to prepare for our O.W.L's. For which we will revise, by the way," she continues with a strict look.

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," I grunt and give her a small smirk. "I'm actually stunned that you'd let yourself have a free night from studying," I say and glance deliberately at the party around us.

Hermione shrugs. "Yes, well, I suppose Fred and George are entitled to a party after what they did," She says simply, a smile tugging her lips.

I nod in agreement. "So, no more partying?"

Hermione gives me a stern look, resembling McGonagall rather much. "No more."

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, April 15th 1996**

I'm in the middle of my afternoon tea and a promising text I've found from the library. It is my ancestor's journal, actually, and I have to admit that I'm rather intrigued by it. The man's raving about blood purity and ways to enhance it for the most of the journal, but the most interesting parts are about ancient rituals.

"…Sirius?"

I'm startled by the noise, and then I realise the voice is coming from the fireplace. Shit. What if someone sees me? As I stare at the fireplace, Potter's head appears in the midst of flames, an anxious look in his eyes.

Has something happened? Several images of my dreams from the past couple of months pop up into the forefront of my mind.

I clear my throat. "Potter."

"Oh. I thought you were…never mind," Potter mumbles, looking slightly uncomfortable, as if not really sure what to say.

"Yes. Well. What is it?" I ask eventually, mildly annoyed by his perplexity. Didn't the Ministry hag close the floo-connections in the castle? I stare at him closely.

"Um…I just wondered — I mean, I just fancied a chat with Sirius," He stammers, not looking at me.

I arch a brow at him. "You fancied a chat?" I ask slowly, the incredulity evident in my voice. "So…you decided to floocall him, just to chat...Regardless of what nearly happened last time?" I ask blankly and give him a withering look.

Potter has the grace to look embarrassed. "Um…Could you just…get him?" He asks weakly, a desperate look in his eyes.

Clearly something is wrong. I stare at him for a small moment and then send a Patronus to my brother, ordering him to the kitchen right away.

Potter eyes my actions with a mix of interest and awe, supposedly because of the shape of my Patronus; a lion. He looks away as I lock my eyes with him.

"How are you doing?" I ask bluntly, and he shrugs. There has been some discussion in the Order meetings how the school is run now that Dumbledore is not there anymore.

"Okay, I guess…" He mutters.

"How's Occlumency? Has Severus given you a hard time?" I ask mutedly, hoping that my old friend hasn't brought up the instances I've requested him to keep to himself.

Potter shrugs. "It's okay. Nothing I didn't expect from him," He says grimly.

I nod slowly. "Has he said anything…about…" I say hesitantly, my voice trailing off since I can't say it out loud.

Potter quickly shakes his head. "No. Nothing. I think he hasn't seen – "

"He has, trust me," I interrupt him with a sharp voice.

Even with the flames, I can see his face colouring. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, as if he wants to say something but doesn't know what or how.

He sighs and rubs his neck. "Well…that's…um…" he mutters, seeming like he doesn't know how to continue.

"Unfortunate. Yes, it is." I say, trying to seem indifferent. "But he won't be a problem."

"Oh?" Potter says and stares at me with surprise.

The kitchen door opens. "Hello, brother. How nice of you to ask me to join your company," My brother drawls as he walks in, staring at me expectantly. Lupin follows him in, as usual, behaving like the other end of a magnet.

I roll my eyes at my brother and jerk my head towards the fireplace. "You have a visitor." I grunt and let out a weary sigh. "Try to be more careful this time, dear brother."

Sirius doesn't even register my last sentence, as his attention is completely focused on the fireplace and his godson. "Harry!" Sirius exclaims with a mix of joy and worry. "What is it?" He says quickly, rushing towards the fireplace and kneeling in front of it.

I take my leave, as I assume what Potter has to say is only intended for my brother and Lupin. It's not like I'm overly interested to hear what he has to say. And, well, my brother probably won't shut up about it, so I'll undoubtedly learn exactly what they have discussed.

I lie down on my bed and stare at the canopy, a scattering of images filling my mind, every one of them about Potter.


	12. Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Let me know what you think...
> 
> ...And don't be mad at Reg ;)

 

**Chapter 12: Wolves**

**Grimmauld Place, May 5th 1996**

On Sunday night the Order meeting is nearing its end. There's only ten of us, so the agenda is relatively quickly gone through. Vance's sitting opposite to me, wrapping up her explanation about some proposed legislations regarding the control of Magical Creatures. Apparently, she's running the Wizengamot Administration Services in the DMLE.

As she speaks, my gaze sweeps over her features, and I have to say, she's very well-preserved. She has to be, what, thirty-three or something like that? Her eyes flicker to mine and there's a small snag in her speech. No one else notices, but I can see her cheeks tinging a bit and irritation flash in her eyes. I suppress a smirk. I need this, distraction. Something, anything to take my mind off from him. Potter. His annoying face keeps popping in on my dreams, and even sometimes when I'm awake.

This thing between Vance and I first happened a couple of weeks ago, after I decided that I needed to know if there still was something. I needed to know if kissing her could feel the same I imagine would feel with him.

It didn't. But I still went to her the next time she came here. She's been clear from the start – that she doesn't want any strings attached, and she doesn't want anyone to know. A deal that's working a bit too well for me, I'd say.

After Vance is done, the meeting is adjourned and everyone starts gathering their belongings, shuffling towards the fireplace and upstairs to the hall. I clear my throat. "Miss Vance, may I have a word?" I ask politely, a blank look on my face.

She arches a brow at me but nods afterwards. I gesture for her to follow me, and know fully well that my brother's eyes follow us, evidently filled with mischievous glee.

The moment we enter the library she jumps on me. I let out a muffled gasp against her lips and manage to kick the door shut.  _Fuck_ , she's nothing but excitement.

"Eager much?" I drawl as I break out from our kiss, a teasing smirk on my lips.

She arches a brow at me and presses a hand between my legs, squeezing my hardening cock, undoubtedly making a point. "You wanted to talk about something?" She says sweetly, her lips hovering against mine.

Well, fuck. Talking about distraction. "N-Not really." I breathe and pull her into a heated kiss.

Soon the vast room is filled with sounds of sighing and moaning as our mouths are crashing against each other, sucking, biting, licking. It's so easy to let go and give into it, to forget everything else. And it's just the thing I need. Vance lets out a soft moan when my lips find her neck and my fingers the buttons of her trousers.

She grips my jaw and pulls me back to meet her lips, pushing me slowly towards the couch in the seating area, while I work on her trousers. She slaps my fingers away right when the backs of my feet finally make contact on the couch. I drop to sit down on the couch, panting slightly as I watch her shimmy out from her clothing.

"Circe…" I murmur, eyeing her half-naked body. She chuckles and throws a couple of privacy spells on the door. My dick is aching in my slacks, and I know I'm probably going to come undone embarrassingly fast. Her fingers find the buckle of my trousers, and a moment later my slacks and my briefs are drawn down to my ankles.

"Shit…You sure this is a good idea?" I ask when a flicker of doubt crosses my mind, even though my fingers flex against her hips as she settles on my lap.

"You're not?" She asks coyly, and then my cock is tightly between her fingers.

I let out a groan. "Definitely not."

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, May 6th 1996**

It's early, and I slip into the kitchen after another restless night. My heart is still thrumming in my ribcage after an uncanny dream I had last night.

"Well hello there, cousin," Nymphadora drawls behind her teacup, with a voice no Hufflepuff should be able to accomplish.

I refrain from rolling my eyes and sit down opposite to her. "Good morning,  _Nymphadora_ ," I say with a satisfied grin. She makes a face at her name but still, a sly smirk takes over her features.

"Had a nice night?" She asks innocently, a knowing look in her eyes.

I groan inwardly and roll my eyes at her. I snatch the morning Prophet from her and view over the first pages while I feel my cousin's narrowed eyes fixated on me. There's nothing interesting in the paper, so I toss it away and tuck into my breakfast Kreacher has kindly provided for us.

"Sooo…reminiscing an old fling, huh?" Dora asks, a wry glint in her eyes.

I scoff. "Hardly."

Nymphadora smirks. "Not what I heard." She says gleefully.

I suppress a scowl and take a sip of my tea. "What did she say?" I ask plainly.

My cousin eyes me with a scrutinising look. "She said…that you are hung up on someone else."

My stomach jolts unpleasantly. "She…What?" I say mutedly, frowning at her. Vance and I haven't really discussed about our lives, on that level at least. And the interesting part is, that she doesn't have it wrong, however hard I try to ignore it.

Nymphadora shrugs. "That's what she said."

I scoff, a frown between my brows. "I haven't said anything of the sort to her."

She gives me a pointed look. "You didn't need to. So…Who's the lucky girl?" She asks and winks. I can feel my eyebrows twitch even though I otherwise manage to keep a straight face. "Oh…Or boy, perhaps?" She continues, watching me closely, a hint of confusion in her eyes.

Cursing inwardly, I clear my throat and place a disinterested expression on my face. "I have no interest in continuing this discussion, cousin," I say simply.

Nymphadora arches a brow at me. "Suit yourself." She says with an amused look, just as my brother and Lupin enter the kitchen.

I'm actually pleased to see them, that is, at least before I see them exchange a sly look after seeing me.

"Fun night?" Sirius asks with a wide grin as he sits down next to me. Lupin sits next to my cousin and they glance at each other, something secretive in their eyes. Is something actually going on between them? If so, isn't she bothered that the man's over ten years older than her age?

Yes, I realise Vance is nearly the same age as Lupin, and the age difference between us is even more dire than with Lupin and Dora.

My brother nudges me, eyeing me expectantly when I turn to give him a bored look.

"How was it?" He asks quietly, waggling his brows. Merlin he's distasteful. And apparently not at all bothered by the fact that his little brother has been messing around with a thirty-something woman. "Come on, Reggie…Loosen up a bit," He says with ease and winks at me, snatching a strip of bacon from my place.

Nymphadora and Lupin watch our conversation, looking mildly entertained. I let out a weary sigh. "If you must know, my evening was sufficiently…pleasant," I say plainly, not giving anything away.

Sirius barks a laugh. "I'm sure it was…" he says turns to load his plate from the wide selection of breakfast assortments on the table.

"Well?" Nymphadora asks with a small grin. "Is she still here? You gonna bring her breakfast to bed? Make her an honest woman?" She asks, teasing me, clearly knowing that I'd do no such thing, and obviously knowing that Vance left last night, supposedly after their little conversation about me.

I huff at my cousin, her earlier comment still disturbing me. "What are you even doing in here?" I ask from her with a mild irritation. "Don't you have a home? A job? Anything?"

Nymphadora shrugs indifferently. "Couldn't be without my little pet here," She says with a mischievous smile, glancing affectionately at Lupin, whose cheeks redden instantly.

My brows arch with interest as I lift my cup of tea to have a drink. "Your what?" I ask, feeling bewildered.

Sirius chuckles next to me. "Not that perceptive, are you Reggie?" He asks, stuffing eggs and beans into his mouth. I give a mildly disdainful look at my brother, who has apparently become even more of a slob than he was in his teenage years. I then turn to assess Lupin and my cousin.

"You're couple, then?" I ask blankly. Inwardly, I smirk as I think how my parents and my aunt and my uncle would've reacted if they knew she was associating with a werewolf.

"Yeah, something like that," Nymphadora says easily, while Lupin seems a bit hesitant, shifting on his seat uncomfortably.

I choose not to say anything, but I can't ignore a small surge of feeling inside me. What is it? Worry? Am I caring for my cousin's wellbeing? …What is happening to me?

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, June 7th 1996**

"I'm telling you, the Ministry has turned the school into a spectacle!" Moody shouts with a mix of anger and amusement in his voice.

The past month has gone quickly, and even though Potter has made a permanent appearance in my dreams, I decided to put an end to the additional encounters with Vance. It just didn't… _feel_  right, I suppose. She said she doesn't mind, and actually seemed a bit pleased at the decision. We both knew it was going to end probably sooner than later, so there was no need for dragging it out. The last time I saw her, she told me to make up my mind and find my happiness. Whatever the hell that meant.

Most of the Order has gathered again in the kitchen on this late Friday night. Even both McGonagall and Severus are attending. They have recounted the happenings at the school from the past month, and it's causing a lot of discussion, both frustrated and gleeful. Apparently, after Molly Weasley's twin sons left the school in late April, the remaining students started to fight against their new Headmistress, Dolores Umbridge. The Ministry Hag.

The previous Headmaster, Dumbledore, is attending the meeting as well, and he's listening to the discussion with a troubled look behind his half-moon spectacles. I can only assume he's worried for his students' safety.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asks as the subject of Hogwarts's current state has been gone over.

Severus turns to look at the old man with an unreadable expression. A few members still continue their discussion with hushed tones.

"How are your private lessons with Harry?" Dumbledore asks and eyes Severus closely.

Severus doesn't falter, doesn't even blink when he drawls. "They're as dull as ever."

Dumbledore gives him a scrutinising look before the next subject is taken into consideration. The Prophecy. Before I tune in to the latest reports of various guard shifts, I inspect Severus's features. I know he's lying. Because I know him. His eyes flicker to mine, and I can see a hint of warning in them.

He wants me to keep my mouth shut, and so will he as well. Wanker.

I wonder what is going on with his lessons with Potter? Has he seen something intriguing in Potter's mind? I assume he would have said something if he had.

I learn that the Dark Lord hasn't made any advances towards the Prophecy after the incident with an Unspeakable, Broderick Bode. Of course, it isn't public knowledge, but the Order suspects Malfoy put Bode under the Imperius curse and forced him to try to collect the Prophecy. After his failure, the man was murdered in St Mungo's during Christmas holidays, supposedly by the Dark Lord's order.

The reason for the Dark Lord's hesitance became clear before Easter, when Severus informed the Order that Rookwood, a former Unspeakable, now a prison escapee, has given the Dark Lord a rather important bit of information. The Dark Lord has learned that only the people whom the prophecies refer, can acquire them from the Department of Secrets. The Order of course has known this part, and it has been a slight advantage to us. Unfortunately, the Dark Lord now knows only he or Potter is able to collect the Prophecy.

Severus announces that the Dark Lord is confident on his success of obtaining the Prophecy. He hasn't been trusted with the details, but it is clear the Dark Lord is planning something. We speculate Severus's news a bit, and it seems that either the Dark Lord is planning an attack to the Ministry, revealing himself at last, or he's planning on using Potter to collect the prophecy for him.

* * *

My brother's sulking in father's study again, at least the incoherent brooding noises that carry down the hall indicate towards it. It's already past midnight, and I'm on my way back to my room from the kitchen where I enjoyed a late-night cup of tea to help me sleep. I pause on the hallway and contemplate if I should go and talk with him, or continue upstairs.

I make up my mind and walk towards father's study, towards my brother. I slip into the dark room and glance around me. Even though it's night, a faint light still slips through the window. It is not the first time I've found him here, in a mix of a mood swing and self-indulgence.

"Hello, brother." He grunts from behind father's desk.

I make my way to him, rounding the table and find him sitting on the floor, a Firewhiskey bottle between his hands.

"Amusing yourself again?" I ask wryly and sit down next to him. He passes the bottle to me, and I take a hefty swig, coughing slightly as the liquor burns my throat.

Sirius only hums and gazes pensively out from the sliver of window that is visible. I study his features, wondering where his thoughts are.

"So…what are you moping about in here?" I ask quietly after a short silence.

He shrugs and takes the bottle back, still looking away from me.

"Okay then," I say with a small sigh and stare at him as he takes a swig from the half empty bottle. I know how he is, even though it usually makes me feel somewhat irritated. It will take time until he opens up and tells me what is bothering him. We haven't really been good at this, sharing things. Talking about our feelings. Perhaps we were in our childhood, but not anymore. Everything seems so much more complicated now. We both keep many things to ourselves, because in the end, there are only so many one can truly trust.

He clears his throat. "Just…had a difference of opinion with Dumbledore…"

I watch his features carefully. "About?"

"Harry," Sirius grunts, his eyes flickering to mine for a second.

I nod slowly. "Again?" I ask, because this isn't the first time my brother has argued with Dumbledore about Potter.

Sirius sighs. "I want Harry to live with me, like he should." He says, his voice oddly sober and determined, even though he should be thoroughly pissed after all the alcohol he must've taken. "Lily and James made me Harry's godfather and his guardian in case something happened to them." He says with a stricken look. "I have money now. I have a place, a very secure place, where he has more than enough space," He says wearily, gazing forward with a mix of deep worry and attachment.

"But? Why wouldn't he live here then?" I ask, not because I necessarily want Potter to be here, but because I know it is something my brother wants. What he needs. Even though I suspect he's probably not in any shape of taking care of anyone but himself, I understand what it means to him. What Potter means to him.

He lets out a frustrated growl and takes another gulp from the bottle. "Lily's blood…her relatives. There's some enchantment there, protecting him. As long as he's with Lily's blood, Voldemort cannot hurt him…" He says bitterly, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought.

We are silent for a while before I speak, more to myself than him. "So it all comes down to blood," I mutter.

"Apparently."

Another silence.

"So, Emmie, huh?" Sirius asks with a sly grin as he glances at me. I roll my eyes and snatch the bottle from him.

"You know, you should invite her to dinner, get her to know your family and Head of House properly," he says with a grin, looking proud as he straightens himself up and smooths his clothes.

I shake my head slightly and give him an incredulous look. "Don't bother. We're not a thing." From the arched brow my brother gives me, I continue. "There's nothing between us anymore." I say and take gulp of Firewhiskey.

Sirius's expression shifts to a sincerer one. "Oh. What happened?" He asks with a slight frown between his brows.

I shrug. "It was never going anywhere. It's different now. We're different now," I say blankly and stare at Firewhiskey bottle on my lap. It's a lie and at the same time, it is not. I'm the one who's different now.

"How so?" Sirius asks quietly. "Is it the age difference? I mean, I have to say, it threw me off a bit in the beginning, but once I'd get past that, I – "

"It's not that," I interrupt him quickly, not really understanding why I'm talking about this with him. But when I think about it, I know the reason. There's something in his presence that makes me at ease. He can be a frustrating git when he wants to – and most of the time he is – but deep inside, I know I've missed talking to him. And I've missed him.

Sirius stays silent and waits for me to continue.

I let out a sigh and hand him the bottle back before threading a hand through my hair. "I only started it because…because I was trying to forget someone. Someone else," I say and swallow hard, not able to summon enough willpower to continue or to look at him.

Sirius lets out a small chuckle. "What you just said…was the height of idiocy. Why'd you think it would've helped?" He says cautiously, his voice almost soft.

"I don't know," I say and shake my head slowly, realising how foolish I have been and how lucky I have been for not hurting anyone in the process.

"So…what now?" My brother asks as he inspects me carefully, a hint of worry in his grey eyes.

I look at him hesitantly, inwardly hoping he will not kill me once he finds out. "Maybe I'll do something about it."


	13. On My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! So...One chapter left for OotP, as this story kind of follows the books - with small (and not so small) tweaks here and there.
> 
> ...enjoy!

 

**Chapter 13: On My Mind**

**Hogwarts, June 10th 1996**

"No, no, Incarceration Jinx's counter-spell is the Revulsion Jinx," Hermione explains tensely to Parvati and Ernie, whom she has been arguing with while we've waited for the Defence Against the Dark Arts practical exam to start.

Ron gives me a look and we both decide to stay out of it, knowing it's better that way. Since the OWLs started, Hermione has been lashing out on everyone who dares to question her knowledge, or somehow distract her revising routine.

Today's exam is actually the first one I'm positive I will pass. I'm also quite confident that everyone from the DA will have top marks on the practical DADA, since we've been practicing nearly the whole year behind Umbridge's back. I'd do almost anything to see her face after she finds out that most of her students are not in fact failing the practical part, even though she hasn't taught us anything regarding it.

We're nearly halfway through the OWLs after last week's Charms, Transfiguration and Herbology exams, and I can't wait for them to end. Because that means summer holidays and I'll finally get away from Umbridge. I'll finally see Sirius…And I'll see Regulus as well. My stomach clenches with anticipation, and I know it has nothing to do with the upcoming exam. I have had a long time to think it over, and I know there's something lingering between us. Something I intend to find out about.

"Some of us don't need to worry about the sort, Granger. In fact, when you know the right people, you don't have to worry about anything. But of course, you wouldn't know about that, since you didn't even know magic  _existed_  before you came here," Malfoy drawls behind us, his cronies sniggering stupidly next to him.

Hermione's cheeks redden as she turns towards Malfoy, her eyes narrowing at him.

"Shut up, Malfoy," Ron and I both say wearily.

Hermione lifts her chin proudly. "At least some of us don't  _need_ the right connections to pass our exams. We do it simply by  _talent_ , Malfoy," She says sweetly, and turns away from him.

Malfoy splutters as Ron and I, and several others around us chuckle at his expense.

"…You filthy little – "

"Something the matter, Mr. Malfoy?" McGonagall's sharp voice demands behind us.

Ron and I share a smirk while Malfoy grits his teeth, grumbling something under his breath.

"Didn't think so," McGonagall continues and turns to eye the fifth-year students gathered in the Entrance Hall. "Now, everything is ready for your practical exam. The first group of students will be called in shortly. I suggest you all focus on the upcoming exam, instead of nonsensical fuss," She says with a stern look before continuing her way on the hallway.

Forty minutes later, and twenty minutes after Hermione had entered the Great Hall with Anthony Goldstein, Gregory Goyle and Daphne Greengrass, my name is called.

I step inside after Ron giving me a supportive pat on the back and whispering an encouragement, "you'll be brilliant, mate."

I'm facing Professor Tofty again, and I'm a bit more relaxed now, since he doesn't feel like a complete stranger anymore. I perform all the counter-jinxes and defensive spells with ease and Tofty's eyes shine with delight.

"Bravo, Mr. Potter!" He exclaims after I demonstrate a faultless Boggart banishing spell. "…I wonder…"

I lift my brows at him quizzically. "Yes?" I thought that was all the exam required.

Tofty glances around us before he speaks. "I've heard rumours that you have mastered a Patronus Charm already, even though it is a NEWT level charm," he says conspiratorially, his lips twitching into a small smile.

"Oh." I say, a bit surprised. "Well, yes, sir. I guess I have…" I say hesitantly.

Tofty grins. "Brilliant, indeed. And, well…I might be able to give you a bonus point for showing me, if you don't mind, Mr. Potter," He says eagerly.

I grin at him. "Certainly, sir." I say and my eyes flicker towards Umbridge. Picturing how she would look like being sacked, I raise my wand and say, " _Expecto patronum!_ "

The familiar silver stag bursts from the tip of my wand, and gallops across the hall. Everyone turns to look at the Patronus and then me, most of them with awed expressions. All except Malfoy, of course. I stifle a laugh and turn back to Tofty.

"Marvellous, Mr. Potter! Simply brilliant!" He says excitedly. "You may go now," He says with a wide smile.

As I pass Umbridge and take in the smug look on her face, I can't help but smirk at her widely.

* * *

**Hogwarts, June 17th 1996 (Monday)**

I'm sitting in the Great Hall at breakfast, my eyelids slowly dragging down on their own accord.

"Mate, you need to brighten up. It's our last exam, and after that, freedom," Ron says encouragingly, shoving me lightly with his elbow.

I let out a grunt in reply and take the cup of coffee he offers me. "Didn't exactly sleep last night, not after what happened," I mutter and take a sip. I don't actually enjoy coffee, but I reckon it is what I need right now.

"Yeah, that was a bloody spectacle. I wonder if Hagrid's okay…And where has he gone to…? And what about McGonagall…She isn't exactly young anymore, and taking four stunners on the chest like that, who knows how long will it take for her to recover," He says worriedly while loading his plate.

Hermione narrows her eyes on her seat across from us. "Umbridge shouldn't have done that. Who knows what damage she has done to Professor McGonagall…?" She says furiously.

Last night was our Astronomy practical exam, and it was bad enough that it had taken place on a Sunday night – apparently the sky hadn't been clear enough on Friday night – but Umbridge had decided to accost Hagrid in the middle of our exam. Umbridge's intentions to banish Hagrid became clear when she and a five Aurors, at least by the looks of it, started firing spells at him. Thanks to Hagrid's thick skin, the curses bounced off of him, but left McGonagall – who had come down to stop the conflict – unconscious on the grounds, after having four stunners fired straight at her.

I don't exactly have high hopes for getting an OWL from Astronomy, but that's not bothering me the slightest. After the exam, most of us Gryffindors stayed up in our common room to discuss and speculate the happenings of that night, cursing Umbridge and plotting her downfall until the early hours of the next day. I have never hated the woman more than I do know. I don't even know what would be the suitable punishment for her, after all she's done. Although, I have to say, Ron's suggestion of feeding her to a box of starving Blast-Ended Skrewts seemed reasonable.

My last exam, History of Magic, is scheduled to start after lunch, so there really isn't time for a nap, even though it could probably only help me focus in the exam. I spend the morning and midday revising with Ron and Hermione in the library, trying not to fall asleep as I read the dull text about the Gargoyle Strike of 1911.

After lunch, we're back in the Entrance Hall, waiting for the tables to be cleared before we can take our seats in the Great Hall. As soon as I've sat down and faced my examination paper, I feel exhaustion taking over me. I know I need to focus. This is the last exam, and then we're free, as Ron put it. My eyes still keep trailing to the windows, over the light-soaked grounds, over the Great Lake.

"You may turn over your papers," Professor Marchbanks calls from the front of the Hall, turning over the giant hour-glass. "The exam begins."

I turn over my paper and stare blankly at the questions. It seems that everything I've revised, every bit of Elfric the Eager and Egbert the Egregious I still yesterday remembered has somehow flown out of my mind. I curse inwardly and skip a couple of questions until I find something I actually can answer. I quickly start to scribble my answers, likely getting the names and years wrong. My brain feels fuzzy and slack. I remember reading about Goblin Rebellions just before lunch. Why can't I remember the details about how they began?

I'm distracted and realise I've been staring at Parvati in front of me for some time. Shit…Everyone around me is scrawling their parchments furiously, their heads bent towards their tables. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to remember the details about the trolls that had caused the breach between Pierre Bonaccord and Liechtenstein…trying to remember how Goblins had tried to attend and had been ousted from the meeting…trying to ignore the quills scratching everywhere…trying to ignore the sound from the hour-glass, where the sand is trickling through noisily…

I'm suddenly in the corridor of the Department of Mysteries. It is dark, and I can barely see around me. I try to run forward, along the hallway but it seems like ages before I reach my destination…

The black door swings open as soon as I step before it, and I walk through it, into the circular room with several doors…

I feel the need to rush forward, towards the second door…I walk hurriedly, ignoring the odd mechanical clicking noise, towards the third door…

I'm finally in the room, larger than the Great Hall in Hogwarts, larger than the Ministry Atrium, filled with shelves and glass spheres from floor to ceiling…I need to get there in time, I need to see…I have to succeed this time…

I run towards the number ninety-seven and turn left after reaching it. I hurry along the corridor between the tall shelves. In the end of the corridor, there's a shape, lying on the floor. As I reach the shape – a man – I lift my hand and cast a Cruciatus Curse, feeling thrilled by the power, by triumph…The man screams in pain, trashing on the ground, and I let out a high-pitched laugh before lifting the curse.

"Lord Voldemort is waiting," I say silkily, my white hand clutching my wand, the next curse ready to burst out.

The man lifts his head slowly, his face bloody and twisted with pain, but still a defiant look in his grey eyes. "You'll have to kill me," Sirius gasps, gritting his teeth.

I let out another cold laugh. "Undoubtedly I shall, in the end," I say darkly. "But you will fetch it for me first, Black…you think you have felt pain thus far? Think again…we have hours ahead of us and nobody to hear you scream…"

I scream as my godfather starts to scream again in agony, the scene ahead dissolving and changing...

And then I'm back in the Great Hall, lying on the stone floor, panting as if I've run a marathon, my scar on fire, and every eye fixated on me.

* * *

"No, I don't need to go to the Hospital wing, really. I'm fine, sir," I try to explain to Professor Marchbanks. He eventually lets me go, thinking I have examination pressure, or something of the sort. He suggests that I lie down, but as soon as I'm left alone in the Entrance Hall, I decide to hurry to the Hospital wing after all. I need to see McGonagall. I barrel through the Hospital wing doors and learn that McGonagall was transferred to St Mungo's this morning. Fuck!

I run away, determined to find Ron and Hermione. We need to do something. We need to save Sirius. He has him. Voldemort has Sirius…

As soon as I find my friends, I quickly tell them what I saw. Both Hermione and Ron are shocked from the news, and I can hear my voice shaking as I speak.  _Sirius_ …I'm feeling anxious and terrified. I have to get to him. I need to get to him…But how I we going to get to the Department of Mysteries?

I realise I've asked the question out loud as Ron stammers, "G-Get there?"

"Yes, we need to get going right now! He'll kill him, Ron! He'll kill Sirius!" I say urgently, trembling with fear from the thought.

"…But…Harry…" Ron says weakly.

"What? What?" I ask, beginning to feel frustrated. Don't they realise Sirius is in danger? Don't they realise he's been tortured? That he might be killed?

Hermione worries her lip before she speaks. "Harry…How would Voldemort get into the Ministry of Magic without anyone realising he was there?" She asks carefully.

"I don't know, Hermione!" I yell. "What we need to figure out is how to get there, don't you see?" I say imploringly.

Hermione swallows hard. "But Harry…Think about it…it's five o'clock in the afternoon, and the Ministry of Magic must be full of workers. How would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? They're probably the two most wanted wizards in the world. How could they have entered without Aurors noticing?"

I let out a frustrated growl. "I don't know! Voldemort used an Invisibility Cloak or something!" I shout at her. "Anyway, the Department of Mysteries has always been completely empty whenever I've been – "

"You've never been there, Harry," Hermione mutters quietly. "You've dreamed about the place, that's all."

A cold rage surges through me. "They're not normal dreams! How do you explain Ron's dad?" I yell at her, not feeling bad at all when she cringes slightly.

Ron clears his throat awkwardly. "Harry's got a point," He mutters, giving Hermione a tentative look.

Hermione chews the inside of her cheek in thought. "But…It just sounds so…unlikely, Harry. How could Voldemort have Sirius when he's been in Grimmauld Place? We would know about it, surely, by now. He's brother would've informed the Order," Hermione says insistently.

We continue arguing, and I'm starting to feel desperate. Every minute passing is more torture for my godfather. The door to the empty classroom we are in opens abruptly and Ginny and Luna slip inside, worried looks on their faces.

I need to do something, and even though Hermione has a point – that Voldemort might be doing this only to lure me in to the Department of Mysteries, how could I not go? He's the only family I've got.

I tell her that, and Hermione's eyes glitter with tears. "Okay. Okay," She says placatingly, worrying her lip. "But first, we need to make sure that Voldemort is not planting these visions in your head."

"And how are we supposed to do that?" I ask bitterly.

Hermione's brow furrows for a moment before she speaks. "We'll have to use Umbridge's fire and see if we can contact him," She says, looking terrified at the thought.

"Luna and I can draw Umbridge away again, Harry," Ginny says with a determined look, while Luna nods slowly, a soft smile on her lips.

I let out a weary sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose under my glasses. "Okay, fine. But if he's not there, I'm going to the Ministry."

Hermione starts to form a plan for us, pacing between the desks while the others suggest whatever they can think of. Ten minutes later, the plan is set in motion. While the others go to guard the hallways and distract Umbridge, Hermione and I slip under the Invisibility Cloak and make our way towards Umbridge's office. We make it inside without problems, and I quickly toss the Cloak away and throw myself in front of the empty grate, grabbing a handful of floo powder before throwing it into logs stacked neatly in the fireplace.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" I say hastily, and stick my head into the green flames. Images of different fireplaces start to whirl in front of my eyes, and I screw my eyes shut to ease the spinning of my head until I feel it slowing down, and then the empty kitchen of Grimmauld Place appears in front of me.

"Sirius!" I shout, trying to listen carefully for any noises. The place is eerily quiet. No one is there. "Sirius! Are you there?!" I yell again, but no one answers.

I start to panic, and call Sirius again, then Regulus, and also Kreacher, over and over again. No one answers.

"Shit…" I mutter, and I'm about to shout again, but just as I've opened my mouth, I feel a sharp pain in my scalp. I'm being pulled backwards from the fireplace so abruptly that I manage to inhale a mouthful of ash. As I cough violently and blink my eyes, Umbridge's toad-like face comes into my view.

No…

"You think I was going to let one more foul, scavenging little creature enter my office without my knowledge? I had Stealth Sensoring Spells placed all around my doorway after the last one got in, you foolish boy. Take his wand," She says menacingly to someone as she tightens her grip in my hair.

My eyes begin to water from the burning feeling on the top of my head, and I feel someone wring my wand away from my grip. Then Umbridge drags me upwards and I scramble into a kneeling position, noticing Malfoy; leaning against the window and twirling my wand between his fingers, a smug smirk plastered on his face and Bulstrode; who is pinning Hermione against the wall, her large forearm pressing at Hermione's windpipe. Then the door opens and Grabbe and Warrington push forward gagged and tied Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville.

"Got 'em all," Warrington says with a satisfied grin as he shoves Ron roughly forward.

Umbridge must be pleased, even though I can't see her face. I can only feel the tight grip of her stubby fingers against my scalp and her thick wand pressing to my neck as she stands behind me, eyeing the others. "Good, good. Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn't it?" She says sweetly, giggling slightly afterwards. I try to swallow the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. Merlin, I hate her. I really,  _really_  hate her.

She summons Snape after assuming I was trying to contact Dumbledore through her fireplace, and that I'm in a dire need of a couple of drops of Veritaserum. Snape enters some time later, not even blinking at the sight of us, of the Headmistress assaulting her students. He is dismissed right after Umbridge finds out he hasn't got any Veritaserum, since Umbridge has used every single drop of it. Before Snape steps out of the room, I desperately try to tell him that Sirius is in danger, but the man merely sneers at me and leaves.

No, no, no…He was my last hope…

Umbridge is left in a raged state, and she comes to the conclusion that I'm ought to be punished – with the Cruciatus Curse. I can only stare at her with a mix of defiance and disbelief, but it is Hermione who stops her ministrations right before the curse is uttered. She makes up a plan as she goes, one that leads up to Hermione and I walking towards the Forbidden Forest, while Umbridge trails behind us, her wand at the ready.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, June 17th 1996**

My brother and I have been practicing duelling again in the library. We've put up our usual silencing charms over the room in order to keep our mother's portrait from screaming her head off to the slightest of voices that carry downstairs. Even though we've set up a couple of protection charms on the shelves surrounding us, we still manage to make some damage during our little spar, causing Kreacher to hastily collect the ancient books into safety. After the healthy match, the elf sullenly starts to clean our mess, ordering my brother to help him. I laugh at Sirius and leave the room.

I'm on my way downstairs when a muffled voice carries to the staircase. "Hello? …I'm not getting any younger here…"

I pause in mid-stride and look back at the room next to the library, where I know the portrait of my ancestor, Phineas Nigellus is situated. Realisation hits me.

"Brother!" I yell and make my way back to the second-floor landing, entering the room where I find a bored looking former Headmaster of Hogwarts, yawning in his portrait.

I stare at him expectantly, and he huffs. "It's about time…" he drawls.

"Well?" I ask plainly, not in the mood for his attitude.

His lips curl into a sneer. "And where is the other you? Your worse half?" He asks airily.

I suppress an eye-roll and send a messenger Patronus to my brother. "He'll be in a minute. What is it about?" I ask primly.

Phineas yawns and eyes his fingernails. "Oh, something about that Potter boy being touched in the head, I presume…"

I arch a brow at him and my brother barges in the room. "What is it?" He asks demandingly, staring at Phineas with an alerted look in his eyes.

"Professor Snape is involuntarily asking for your well-being, Mr. Black." Phineas says to Sirius, a gleeful look in his eyes.

Sirius stares at the portrait with incredulity. "What?"

Phineas sighs dramatically. He really seems to enjoy this shit. "I'm merely forwarding a message."

"Well then, do it already," Sirius barks.

Phineas scoffs. "I have no idea how you managed to outlive all the other Blacks, when it is apparent you are the least suitable heir to our ancient and most noble house." He spats.

I groan inwardly. "Phineas." I mutter and give my brother a warning look before he ends up throwing something at the portrait. "Would it be possible for you to deliver the message to us?" I say through gritted teeth, trying to sound calm.

Phineas considers me for a moment before he nods. "Mr. Potter thinks your brother is in the Ministry. That he is in danger." He blankly says, and then turns to look at my brother.

What the fuck? Why would Potter think that? Has he seen something? I share a dubious look with my brother.

"Professor Snape is inquiring if you are indeed sitting comfortably within the confines of your home, still letting others do the heavy lifting?" Phineas asks from Sirius, a small smirk curving his lips.

Sirius seethes.

"Sirius," I say with a low voice.

My brother scoffs before he speaks. "By all means, tell Snivellus that I'm in very good health, in my manor, comfortably sitting on my arse and playing with my galleons," Sirius says nastily, and Phineas actually snorts a bit as he nods at my brother.

"And tell Snape to pass the information to Harry," my brother continues before Phineas leaves the painting.

I turn to look at my brother and the confusion I'm feeling is mirrored from his face.

"You reckon Harry's seen something?" Sirius asks with worry apparent in his voice.

I let out a weary sigh. "Probably. If he thinks you're in the Ministry, then the Dark Lord is most likely trying to lure him in there…" I mutter, my mind whirling from the news.

"Shit…" Sirius grunts, shoving his hands through his shaggy hair.

"You should contact the others," I say grimly and stay in the room as Sirius makes his way downstairs to make the floo-calls.

Phineas doesn't return and a while after I leave the room to clean myself up. An hour or so later I exit my room in order to find my brother. He's deep in conversation with Lupin, both men looking troubled as they sit in the kitchen. My brother's clutching a small mirror between his hands. I know what it is. It's part of a two-way mirror, probably the same one my brother and I used as children. Only now Potter supposedly has the counterpart.

It's over nine in the evening, and I realise I haven't eaten since lunch because of the disruption after our duelling practice. I ask Kreacher to prepare us something and sit down at the table next to my brother.

"What's going on?" I ask as I study my brother's features. He looks worried. Anxious.

Sirius shakes his head slightly as he gnaws the side of his cheek, his eyes fixed to the table.

Lupin clears his throat. "Sirius hasn't been able to contact Harry. We just wanted to make sure he knows Sirius is safely at home, so that he wouldn't do anything irrational but there is no way to contact anyone at the school."

I arch a brow at him. "What about the portrait?"

Sirius shakes his head again. "No use. We already tried it. Phineas said the Headmaster's office is empty," He grunts.

I nod slowly. "If Snape informed Potter where you are, then I'm sure there's no need to get in a flap about it," I say calmly, even though I feel anything but.

Sirius sighs and threads a hand through his hair. "I really fucking hope so…"

We stay silent for a long while, and eventually Lupin leaves back to his place while me and my brother head upstairs and go to sleep.


	14. Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go!  
> Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos :)

**Chapter 14: Stay With Me**

**Grimmauld Place, June 18th 1996**

I wake up with a jolt. What time is it? I glance towards the window, and it's still dark outside. I'm feeling uneasy, like something's not right. I grab my watch from the nightstand; it's not yet one in the morning.

"Ouch!" I hiss from surprise and pain, dropping the watch to the floor. The Dark Mark on my left forearm is prickling slightly.

I wonder what it is about…I know it's nothing good, even without the nagging feeling I've got in the bottom of my stomach. The pain in my arm is gone as soon as it came, but now I'm awake and restless. I lie still for a moment, trying to sort out my thoughts before I push the comforter away and drag myself on my feet and head to the en-suite bathroom to relieve myself, rubbing my forearm as I go. As I'm washing my hands, I hear something.

"What?" I mumble, frowning at my reflection in the mirror while I listen attentively.

A door is thrown open on the top landing and someone's in the stairs. Sirius? I make my way quickly towards the bedroom door after snatching my wand from the nightstand. As soon as I've opened the door to the landing, I can hear my brother calling me from downstairs, and then cursing loudly as our mother's portrait has awoken because of the noise.

_"Blood traitor, a stain of my noble house! How dare you show yourself to me!"_

"Shut the fuck up you rotting woman!" Sirius yells and a moment later the screaming ends.

I move downstairs as my brother moves up, both of us heading towards the second landing from where I can hear muffled noises.

"It's Phineas!" Sirius hisses, bolting silently into the room where the portrait is situated, and I follow him in, knowing that something is wrong indeed if he's trying to summon us in the middle of the night.

Phineas looks serious, all his previous disdainful and indifferent demeanour gone. "Professor Snape requested me to forward another message to you," he says quickly. There's a dreadful anticipation in the air as my brother and I stare at the portrait.

"Mr. Potter is in the Department of Mysteries," Phineas continues.

Sirius takes a sharp breath while I become rigid. What?

"W-What?!" Sirius eventually splutters, and I swallow hard, definitely not expecting the portrait to say that.

A small sneer flickers on Phineas's face before he speaks. "Do not presume I will repeat myself to you. Professor Snape requested me to inform you that he only learned the news himself, and that he is not able to leave the school since its current Headmistress is missing." Phineas says, scrunching up his nose in distaste. Sirius growls with frustration.

"Umbridge?" I mutter, feeling dazed, but Sirius cuts me out.

"Is he alone in there? Harry?" My brother demands from the portrait, shaking with…fear? Well, I can't say I'm not feeling unease myself.

"Five students have left the school with Mr. Potter…Professor Snape requested me to also inform you that… _his_  followers have been summoned," Phineas says stoically.

A cold sensation trickles down my spine. Death Eaters.

Sirius curses and turns sharply on his heels, fleeing from the room.

"Fuck! This can't be happening!" Sirius roars, his voice raw as he runs downstairs. I run after him, and as we stumble into the kitchen, he goes instantly towards the fireplace and throws floo-powder into it, shouting the name of Lupin's place.

"MOONY!" Sirius yells, his head in the flames.

I'm gritting my teeth in apprehension as I think over the last couple of minutes we spent upstairs with Phineas. Shit…What the hell is that idiot Potter playing at? Going to the fucking Ministry, where the Dark Lord supposedly wanted him to be? Was he possessed? Didn't Snape pass on the information to Potter? Is the Dark Lord himself there, waiting for him? He probably is. If not, the Death Eaters definitely are. I felt it. The Mark.  _Fuck_. We need to get in there.

Sirius shouts at Lupin, makes a couple of more floo-calls and then straightens his back, turning towards me. He's shaking all over, gripping his wand tightly between his fingers, his eyes widened with dread.

"Reggie. Harry's in there, he's in trouble. I have to – " he says, his voice breaking slightly. He swallows deeply and hastily summons his clothes from upstairs and with another flick of his wand, dresses himself, replacing the nightwear he had on.

I nod and do the same. "Sure, let's go then." I say, trying to stay calm, even though my wand hand trembles slightly.

Sirius shakes his head sharply. "No. No. Reggie you're not coming." He says blankly and lifts his wand for disapparation.

"What?!" I snap at him, stepping closer to him. "Of course I'm coming with you," I say, feeling disgruntled. I take a hold of his wrist and give him a daring look.

"You're not coming!" He yells, trying to disentangle himself from my grip, his eyes gleaming angrily.

I press the tip of my wand against his chest, my brows furrowed with intent. "You're not going to stop me, brother." I say darkly. I'm not going to let him go without me. I need to be there, for him, for Potter.

Sirius lets out a frustrated growl and his hand closes around my throat. I gasp in surprise, my wand clattering to the floor as I stumble backwards and grab his hand with both of mine. I can only stare at him with disbelief.

Sirius gives me a maniacal look. "You're fucking staying, do you understand me?" He barks, a look of panic crossing his eyes. "You are staying here, so I'll know you're safe! Do you fucking understand me, Reggie?!" He yells, his voice shaking with both anger and fear. "I'm not putting you in danger," He continues and shoves me away before disapparating, taking my wand with him.

I drop down to my knees, gasping for breath and coughing violently.

That  _fucking_  son of a bitch!

My throat is on fire, throbbing painfully as I pant on the floor, my head spinning while I try to think what to do next. I fucking can't be left behind!

And that fucking arse took my wand.

"Fuck!" I croak and sit back, my knees bent and my elbows resting against them as I press the heels of my palms against my eyes.  _Shit_ …If I had the strength, I would be throwing things, yelling even.

Eventually I stand up and make my way upstairs – I might be able to ask Sev to get me help through Phineas's portrait.

"Phineas!" I yell at the empty portrait as soon as I arrive into the room, panting slightly from rushing up the stairs.

A short moment later he appears in the frame.

"Is Snape there?" I grunt.

His eyes flicker to my neck and he's silent for a moment before he speaks. "Yes." He says simply.

"Tell him…tell him to come here.  _Now_. I need him to get to the Ministry. And I need a wand." I say promptly, and with a hint of annoyance in Phineas's eyes, he leaves the painting again.

I pace in front of the portrait, waiting for Phineas to come back. Fuck, I should be there now, I should be with my brother. I should be there with Potter.

Phineas appears after a couple of minutes. "Professor Snape is unable to come. He has strict orders to remain in the school while the Headmistress is amiss." He says simply.

"Shit." I grumble, and Phineas gives me a look of disdain. I narrow my eyes at him, feeling irritated towards both the portrait and my friend.

A suspicion flickers into my mind.

"Ask Snape, how did the Dark Lord know when to expect Potter in the Ministry?" I say mutedly.

Phineas doesn't say anything, only leaves his frame while I stay in place, staring at the portrait expectantly.

He reappears shortly. "Professor Snape asked me to tell you to keep yourself from asking questions you already know the answers for." Phineas leaves before I can make any other requests or objections.

Was it him - did Severus relay the information to the Dark Lord? What the hell is he scheming? And did he just betray the Order?

"Fuck!" I scream, and throw the nearest item I can get into my hands at the portrait; a small wastepaper basket from the corner of the room. But nothing happens. The portrait remains empty.

Then I remember my elf. "Kreacher!" I yell, and the elf appears at my feet with a small crack.

"I need you to take me to the Ministry." I say hastily.

Kreacher looks hesitant. "Blood traitor Black has point. Master Regulus is safer here," The elf mumbles, not daring to look at me in the eye.

I clench my jaw angrily. "What?" I seethe. "Kreacher…" I say warningly. "I'm ordering you."

Kreacher's eyes are brimming with tears as it finally looks up at me. "Kreacher hears blood traitor master. He says master Regulus is safe here. Kreacher takes order from Head of House." He squeaks and disapparates with a crack.

"NO! KREACHER! COME BACK!" I scream again. No, no, no…

What now? How the fuck can I get there without a wand?

I run back to the kitchen. I need to be at the Ministry, and even though not having a wand puts me into a slight disadvantage if I need to actually duel someone, that's something I can't worry about now. I decide to use the floo to get closer to the Ministry – somewhere at Diagon Alley, and then walk the rest of it. Whitehall is not that far, probably ten-fifteen-minute walk from there.

It is a good plan, but unfortunately, as soon as I grab the floo powder from the bowl, I realise Kreacher has closed the floo-connections in and out of the house.

I swallow hard and take a deep breath, resisting the urge to call up my elf and beat it to within an inch of its life. How  _fucking_  dare it?

I sit down weakly at the table, feeling utterly desperate.

After a while, I glance at the watch on the wall – it's already two thirty in the morning. Over an hour and a half has passed since I woke up with a sore forearm. And then I feel something.

I let out an audible wince. A sharp pain inside me, and this pit in my stomach is all I can feel. All I can think about. I feel raw on the inside, incomplete somehow.

I'm suddenly filled with dread, as if something terrible has happened. And I have a faint idea what it means.

" _No_ ," I whisper, completely stunned. "No, no, no…" I continue, my voice rough, a lump forming into my throat as I trash away from the kitchen, running hurriedly towards the drawing room where our family tapestry is situated.

I barge into the room, and my eyes are fixed on the wall. And my insides go instantly cold.

"No…" I breathe. No. No. This is not happening. This  _can't_  be happening. I stare at the wall, my head filled with disbelief, my lungs devoid of air after I let out a shocked cry.

My eyes start to burn, I'm blinking rapidly, and I'm fucking annoyed because I can't see properly, when everything's blurred. But I can still make out the embroidered, elegant lettering in the old faded tapestry, and the dates under my brother's scorched name.

_November 3rd 1959  
d. June 18th 1996_

"NO!" I roar and drop down to my knees, shaking violently. It feels like my insides are burning. Like my throat is closing up. Like my heart is shattering into million pieces.

"Sirius…" I gasp. A sob escapes from my mouth, and only then I realise I'm crying.

No…He's not gone. He  _can't_  be.

An unbearable pain rips through my chest, making it hard to move, hard to see straight, hard to exist.

"No…no…" I mumble, over and over again, trying to will the letters away. I push the heels of my palms tightly against my eyes, and bright white spots form into my vision. This is not happening…I can't let it happen…He has to come back.

"D-Don't…" I wheeze, my voice wavering so fucking much I don't even recognise it.

"…Don't leave me." I whisper, struggling to breathe, tears running freely now down my cheeks. "D-Don't leave m-me, brother…You're all I've got."

* * *

**Hogwarts, June 18th 1996**

"I know how you're feeling, Harry," Dumbledore says softly.

Anger surges inside me. How can he say that? How could he know?

"No, you don't," I snarl at him, turning away from him, looking out from the window of his office. But everything I see outside; the Quidditch pitch, the edge of the Forbidden forest, the path towards Hogsmeade, all of it reminds me of him.  _Sirius_ …

And it's all meaningless now.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," Dumbledore continues, "On the contrary, the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength." He says quietly.

I grit my teeth in the mix of pain and rage I feel and whirl towards him, a sneer forming into my face. "My greatest strength, is it?" I say with a shaky voice, my voice rising with ferocity. "You haven't got a clue. You don't know…"

"What don't I know?" Dumbledore asks calmly.

I glare at him. "I don't want to talk about how I feel, all right?!"

"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human – "

"THEN I DON'T WANT TO BE HUMAN!" I scream and take a hold of the nearest trinket I can see. I throw the instrument against the wall, breaking it into tiny pieces. I can't help but think how the broken device mirrors me perfectly.

I feel broken. Beyond repairing.

I take the next item on the table, flinging it across the room. "I'VE HAD ENOUGH, I'VE SEEN ENOUGH, I WANT OUT, I WANT IT TO END, I DON'T CARE ANY MORE!" I shout and break more of Dumbledore's possessions. After destroying every single item from Dumbledore's side table, I seize the small table and throw that towards the fireplace.

"You do care," Dumbledore continues, unaffected by the fact that I'm breaking apart his office. He eyes me coolly. "You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it."

"I DON'T!" I yell, my voice cracking. I can't do this. I can't. I – this can't happen to me. My eyes are stinging from the tears that threaten to burst, and the feeling of rage surges inside me again as I look at Dumbledore. I want to break him. I want to hurt him. I want to make him feel like I do. I focus on the anger, because the alternative, I can't bear to think about it…

"Oh, yes, you do," Dumbledore says, still as calm as he has been the whole time. "You have now lost your mother, your father, and the closest thing to a parent you have ever known. Of course you care."

"YOU DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL!" I cry, my face scrunched up in pain. Why must he say that? Why must he bring them up? Why must he torment me? "YOU - STANDING THERE - YOU – " I yell, not able to say anything anymore, because the feeling of pain, the feeling of sadness and loss washes over me. I need to get away from here. I need to get away from Dumbledore.

I need Sirius.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, June 18th 1996**

Even though I know the tapestry is never wrong, it has to be now. It has to be.

Because I'm here, aren't I?

And it was wrong about me.

I let out a strained sound and scramble back to my feet as hope flickers in my chest. I run upstairs to the library, and curse fervently for not having a wand on me. In a flurry, I grab several books from different parts of the room. There has to be something I can use to bring him back. There has to be.

"KREACHER!" I scream, brushing my wet face with the backs of my hands. The Elf pops inside the library, looking at me cautiously.

"Yes, master Regulus?" He squeaks.

I take in a shaky breath. "I need…I need a book. Something. Something to bring him back," I mumble quickly, waving my hands over the library.

"Master Regulus?" Kreacher asks in confusion.

I throw a couple of books across the room, nearly hitting Kreacher with them in the process. "I SAID I FUCKING NEED A BOOK, SOME KIND OF FUCKING RITUAL TO GET MY BROTHER BACK!" I yell angrily, and Kreacher looks taken aback. I know the elf is used to screaming, since it's lived with my mother, but I reckon this is the first time I've yelled at it.

"Shit…" I choke and rub my face. I swallow hard, trying to close my mind, to shut away all the fucking feelings that are storming inside me.

"Go, um. Find Lupin. Or Dumbledore. Someone. I need a wand. And I need to know what is going on," I say stonily to Kreacher, who gives me a quick bow before it disapparates.

* * *

It's fucking late. Or early. It's actually morning, five-thirty to be exact. But who fucking cares?

The library door opens.

Lupin walks in, his bloodshot eyes trained at me, his brows lifting slightly as he takes in my appearance. I look like a mess, I think. I'm sprawled on the floor, leaning against the back of the couch, the contents of our library scattered around me, and a half-empty Firewhiskey bottle nestled between my hands.

Lupin stares at me with a stricken look.

"What?!" I snap at him, scrambling to my feet. "What happened?" I demand from him as I lean against the couch, unsure if my feet are able to carry my weight. "Is my brother…" I mumble, not able to finish the sentence, whatever it was going to be.

Lupin swallows hard. His whole demeanour is annoying the shit out of me. "S-Sirius is…gone. I saw it happen," He chokes, evidently trying to hold back tears.

Every bit of air leaves my lungs. He's truly gone?

"H-How?" I breathe. He knows what I'm asking about. I need to know how he died. I need to know  _who_  is responsible of my brother's…I can't even think about it without blackness threatening to overcome my vision. I blink furiously as I wait for him to answer.

He swallows hard before he whispers. " _Bellatrix_."

I take in a stuttering breath, while my mind screams at me, my stomach clenching so hard I think I might vomit soon. Anger, so fucking terrible anger surges through me. I throw the Firewhiskey bottle across the room.

"FUCK!" I roar and shove my both hands into my hair and pull it in distress, trying to suppress a…sob? A fucking break-down?

"Regulus…" Lupin says carefully, his voice hoarse and shaky, his throat bobbing as he keeps swallowing. "Dumbledore…Dumbledore said that this house – "

" _Bella_." I say darkly, interrupting him as realisation hits me. Since I'm officially dead, the next in line after Sirius is… _Bella_. I want to kill her. I'm fucking making her suffer. I'm going to take everything from her and enjoying every single moment of it.

"We don't know for certain. I know Sirius intended to leave Grimmauld Place to Harry, just in case if something…h-happened..." He says with a pained look. "But we don't know if your parents have somehow managed to disregard that," he continues quickly.

Truth to be told, I wouldn't be surprised if they'd actually managed to do that. And in that case, my home will fall to the hands of the person who murdered my brother.

"But we might be able to figure it out…with the help of Kreacher," He says hesitantly, clearing his throat as he quickly wipes the corners of his eyes.

I clench my jaw and give him a curt nod before summoning Kreacher. The elf pops back into the library moments after.

"Master Regulus summoned Kreacher?" The elf says, watching me carefully.

I force myself to stop gritting my teeth in anticipation. "Kreacher. Who is your Master? Who is the rightful heir of this house?" I ask stonily.

Kreacher looks disenchanted. Fuck…this can't be good.

"Harry Potter."

Thank fuck! I let out a shaky breath of relief and nod at the elf. "Good. Good…Now, bring me another bottle," I say emptily, while Lupin tries to protest.

"Regulus, you really shouldn't – "

I narrow my eyes at him. "I'm doing whatever the fuck I want,  _Lupin_ ," I snarl at him, and take in a calming breath as Kreacher reappears with a full bottle of Firewhiskey and two crystal tumblers which the elf sets on the coffee table. I stumble to the table as I'm already a bit drunk, and snatch the bottle, unscrewing it as I glare at Lupin.

"Now, if you don't have anything else to say, I suggest you leave," I say coldly before taking a long swig straight from the bottle.

Lupin stares at my ministrations with a tormented look before giving me a slight nod. "I'll be back," he says quietly before slipping away from the library.

"Don't bother," I grumble to the empty room.

* * *

_I'm in the centre of a cold, dark, rectangular room, standing in a great stone pit some twenty feet deep. Surrounding me are rows and rows of stone benches, climbing high towards the ceiling. In the middle of the room, in front of me, on a raised stone podium is an archway made of stone._

_And my brother is standing on the other side of it._

_"Sirius!" I breathe, relief filling me, worry twitching in the back of my head. "What is this?"_

_Sirius smiles at me, standing in place. "Hey, brother."_

_I try to move towards him, but I find I'm unable to. "Where are we?"_

_My brother frowns slightly, as if only taking note of our surroundings. "I don't really know." He says and winces abruptly, screwing his eyes shut._

_"Sirius?" I ask hastily, not able to move forward, to go to him, even though I try._

_He shakes his head slightly, blinking at me. "I feel something…Like…Something pulling me."_

_Then he stares at me in wonder. "We were here," he says quietly, his eyes flickering around the room. "Harry was here," He says, and his eyes widen with fright. "Harry! Is he, Reggie, is Harry – "_

_"He's fine." I grit through my teeth._

_Sirius looks confused. "What is it?"_

_I swallow hard. "You…you died, brother. You died saving him. Potter," I say, and I can't stop the bitterness slithering into my voice, nor the steady, aching pain in my chest._

_He considers my words and gives me a stunned look._

_"Sirius. Are you dead?" I need to know, even though there is little to none evidence that he would be alive, since I'm quite positive I'm dreaming._

_He speaks slowly after a moment. "I don't feel like dead. I feel like I…want to exist. I don't – " He stops as his face scrunches up with focus._

_"There are others. I can hear them. I can hear them calling me. Summoning me. Urging me to move forward, to go on," he continues, looking puzzled._

_"…But I…I don't know if I'm ready, brother. I don't…I heard you. I heard you, Reggie," He says, his brows knitted together as a look of pain fills his eyes._

_I let out a small gasp, my eyes stinging with tears. "You heard me?"_

_Sirius nods, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "Yeah. And I'm not sure if I'm ready to let you go, brother."_

_"Sirius…Don't – in any circumstance – do not follow them. Promise me, brother? Promise me that you won't go to them?" I say intently, and Sirius stares at me for a long time before he speaks, a pained look in his eyes._

_"I promise."_

* * *

I'm shaken up from my dream as I fall, head first, to the floor from the couch where I had apparently been passed out.

"…ouch…fuck…" I mumble against the thick carpet, slowly dragging my hands up to lift my body. A sharp feeling of nausea overwhelms me, and I moan in anguish.

My head is pounding, my mouth is dry, and I feel overall wrecked. I pull myself up to sit on the floor, leaning against the couch as the events from last night surge back into my mind. The agony I was in, coming back with a full force.

 _Sirius_ …

I swallow deeply, and shake my head. I can't think of it. I can't. It hurts too much.

I rub my face and try to recall the dream I had right before I woke up. He was there. Sirius was there, and we were – my eyes widen slightly as I remember what he said, how someone was urging him to move onward. How he felt that he wasn't ready to leave me. How he promised he wouldn't.

Even though I know it was a dream, I still have this…odd feeling in pit of my stomach, that has nothing to do with the amount of alcohol I induced last night and this morning.

I need to see the tapestry again. I need to know if there's some magic trace that could help me to bring my brother back. If I was able to travel through time into the future, there might be a way to bring him back.

I stand up with a groan and make my way downstairs towards the drawing room.

As I push the door open, my legs give out. I scramble up and get a hold of the door while I stare at the tapestry.

Beneath my brother's scorched name, beneath his date of birth, his date of death keeps flickering.

"…What?" I mumble and walk quickly closer, so close I can touch the textile, the embroidered lettering. Lettering that keeps fading completely at times.

"Sirius…?" I whisper, my mind spinning.

What does it mean? Is he alive?

Where is he?


	15. Let It Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally some Regulus/Harry interaction. I'll only say...Bear with me (or well...Regulus) :)

 

**Chapter 15: Let It Go**

**Grimmauld Place, July 13th 1996**

_"I see you've finally taken a leaf out of your big brother's book, huh?" Sirius says with mild amusement as he studies my rumpled exterior through the archway._

_I roll my eyes at him. "Bet you're just loving this," I grumble, not bothering to tidy myself up. What good would it do?_

_My brother frowns, looking contemplative as I take a seat on the cold stone floor._

_"How are things?" He asks tentatively, sitting on the floor as well._

_I shrug. "The usual, I reckon. Dementors swarming all over the place, Giants attacking cities…" My voice tight and trailing off._

_"What else?" My brother asks intently, his grey eyes fixed to mine._

_I swallow hard and close my eyes briefly. Two days ago, Vance's lifeless body was found near Number Ten, Downing Street. And a day after that, Amelia Bones was found in her home, brutally killed._

_And it is only starting._

_"Who?" Sirius asks, his gaze hardening._

_I clear my throat. "Amelia Bones, and…Vance."_

_Sirius's eyes widen slightly and he nods slowly. "…I'm sorry."_

_"Yeah. Me too." I mutter tiredly. Even though I wasn't close with Vance – at least, in some respects – her death still stung. She was someone I knew before everything changed. Before I became a Death Eater. Before I travelled into the future._

_And while Bones wasn't part of the Order, the Head of the DMLE murdered supposedly by the Dark Lord himself has to only mean one thing. He's planning on taking over the Ministry._

_We sit silently for a long while, and it's not unusual during these uncanny meetings we have, meetings, that usually happen when I'm three sheets to the wind – which seems to be the case more often than not these days._

_And because of that, I've started to have doubts, I've started to suspect that I'm merely picturing everything. That my brother really is gone, and this is how I'm dealing with it. I want to believe that there is something else, that there is a bigger picture. I want to believe that I wouldn't be here, talking to my brother through an old, crumbling archway if he truly was gone._

_The problem is, that no one else seems to agree with me. No one else dares to have such high hopes like I do. I've talked with Lupin, who stops by every week, and I've discussed with my cousin, who has come by a couple of times, but hearing what I have to say seems too hard for them to deal, too unlikely to have any hope for._

_I've even talked briefly with Dumbledore, questioning the reality of this, of my brothers…existence. He merely told me that even if I was dreaming, it doesn't mean that it is not real._

_Still, he also said that he doesn't have any information that could help me to figure out if my brother truly is forever trapped behind the Veil – which I've learned is believed to separate the worlds of the living and the dead – or is there a possibility for him to come back. This part of the Department of Mysteries is unknown to most of people, even more so than the Time Room, which I'm told was there, at least until Potter and his friends destroyed the place._

_"Talk to me, brother," Sirius says quietly, studying my features carefully._

_I lift my gaze slowly to meet his, and I can't stop the helpless feeling spreading inside me. I need this to be real. I don't want to move on. Not if there is a sliver of a chance to get my brother back._

_"I don't know what to do…" I say with a weary sigh. "I've researched everything I can get my hands to, and I will continue until I find something, I promise, but…"_

_"But what?" Sirius asks with restraint, supposedly knowing my thoughts already._

_I clench my jaw, willing away the headache that threatens to take over. "What if…What if I'm only dreaming?"_

_Sirius curses under his breath, standing up and struggling in place, trying to reach out. We've tried this several times before – it is not possible to walk around in here. We merely stay in place and see and talk to each other through the archway. Sirius threads a hand through his hair, a habit that tells how frustrated he is._

_"You're not, Reggie. Trust me. You're not." He says dejectedly._

_My head is throbbing with pain, and I know what that means. "I need to leave soon," I say weakly, pinching the bridge of my nose._

_"Talk to Harry."_

_I shake my head. "No," I say stoically, my eyes fixed to the ground._

_Sirius huffs exasperatedly. "You can't blame him, brother. It wasn't his fault, and you know it."_

_Of course I know it. It's just easier to blame him. My head is pounding now, my vision starting to blur._

_"Talk to Harry, Reggie."_

* * *

**The Burrow, August 2nd 1996**

We agreed to celebrate my sixteenth birthday in the beginning of August instead of the end of July, so that Lupin was able to attend as well. As I sit in the fairy-light-decorated garden, at a table filled with all my favourite foods, I take a careful look at Lupin. It's obvious that the full moon three days ago has taken its toll on him as he wearily describes the latest dementor attacks.

"And they've found Igor Karkaroff's body in a shack up north. The Dark Mark had been set over it…well, frankly, I'm surprised he stayed alive for even a year after deserting the Death Eaters," He says with a deep frown.

The topic brings Regulus to my thoughts again, and now that I finally have someone who actually has seen him after…well, after what happened in the Ministry, I quickly swallow a mouthful of roasted beef and clear my throat. "What about, um, Regulus?" I ask from Lupin.

Everyone turns to stare at Lupin as he shifts in his seat uneasily. "Regulus…is…handling it," he says simply, staring at a crook on the table with a strained expression.

The last two weeks I've been at the Burrow, I've spent most of my time playing Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchards with Ron, Ginny and Hermione. Mr. Weasley and Bill; who's moved back to Burrow, and Fleur; who is staying here for the summer – much to Mrs. Weasley's and Ginny's dismay – have been busy working from morning to night every day, and thus haven't been able to go to see Sirius's brother.

Lupin, on the other hand, has been meeting him every week, if what Bill mentioned the other night was true.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Weasley says slowly, "perhaps we should talk about something diff–"

"I'd like to go see him. And Grimmauld Place," I say quickly, interrupting Mrs. Weasley. An empty feeling spreads in my stomach from the mere thought of going to the place where my godfather had been living, alive and well, just a couple of months ago, but it is something I know I'll have to face.

There's an uncomfortable silence, and I suppose everyone's afraid to broach the subject, at least when I'm around.

"Well, I suppose, if Regulus agrees, you could go there," Mr. Weasley says carefully, glancing at Lupin, who looks reserved.

He scratches his greyish stubble for a short moment before nodding almost reluctantly. "I'll ask him. And well, since Sirius left you the place, you ought to have the right to go there in any case," He says with a wistful look.

I share a look with Ron and Hermione as Bill and Mr. Weasley start to talk about Florean Fortescue and Garrick Ollivander, who both have disappeared from Diagon Alley during summer.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, August 4th 1996**

Two days after my birthday celebrations, I'm standing in front of Weasleys' fireplace. Before I'm able to reach to the box for floo-powder, Lupin puts a hand on my shoulder and stops me.

"Harry…just…be patient with him, will you?" He says, seeming hesitant. "I'll be still coming with you, but just so you understand…Regulus is…struggling," he says quietly, looking straight into my eyes expectantly.

I nod at him, trying not to show how much the thought of Regulus struggling worries me. "Yeah, of course."

Lupin gives me a sad smile before he removes his hand and takes some floo-powder from the box. He throws the powder into the fireplace and green flames roar into life. "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place," He says and steps into the flames, vanishing from sight.

I take a deep breath as I grab a handful of floo-powder and step into the green flames after giving my destination. And almost walk straight into a handful of pots and pans that soar across the kitchen of Grimmauld place.

"What – " I mumble and take a look around. The place is a mess. There're dirty dishes everywhere, empty bottles of different kinds of liquor – mostly Firewhiskey – scattered around the surfaces, and newspaper pages littered on the floor.

I spot Lupin, who's in the process of tidying the place up with the help of his wand, a concerned look in his eyes.

"Where's Kreacher…?" I wonder, and there's a loud crack in the room as Kreacher appears at my feet.

Kreacher scowls at me. "Master called Kreacher," it grumbles, and then under its breath, "… _half-blood brat thinks he can order poor Kreacher around_ …"

I glance at Lupin again, assumedly looking as baffled as I feel, when Lupin merely shrugs resignedly and says, "Give the elf an order."

Feeling confused, I stare at the glaring elf in its eyes and speak with a strict voice, "Kreacher. I order you to clean this mess up," I say and gesture at the untidiness around us.

The elf sends me a final glower before it starts snapping its fingers, sending newspaper pages into neat piles, making the dirty dishes clean themselves up above the sink, vanishing the spots of spilled liquids and foods from the table and floor.

At least Kreacher is not screaming at me, or trying to hurt itself, as it was the last time I saw the elf. It was only some weeks ago, when Dumbledore informed me that I'm now the rightful owner of Grimmauld Place and…Kreacher. The elf protested loudly, and quieted down only after I gave it a rather harsh order to shut itself up and return immediately to Grimmauld Place and stay there with Regulus.

But why hasn't it been taking care of this place? Because I didn't give it an order to do so? I grit my teeth and curse inwardly.

"Kreacher…Where's Regulus?" I then ask from the muttering elf, but Kreacher doesn't need to answer as the door to the kitchen swings open, and a ragged looking Regulus Black staggers inside. My insides warm momentarily, but the feeling is quickly replaced with uneasiness as I see the empty look in his eyes, and the unsteadiness in his step.

He observes us with a small twitch in his brow, otherwise an unreadable look on his face. "Thought I heard your irksome voices," he merely says and walks towards the dark pantry, only to emerge back a couple of seconds later.

"Kreacher, what did I say about stocking up," he says to the elf with a displeased look as he brandishes a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey he has snatched from the shelves.

So…this is how he's handling it.

Kreacher cowers a bit. "Master Regulus, Kreacher is sorry, so sorry! But Kreacher could not leave, it could not leave home!" Then the elf turns to look at me with deepest loathing. "Master forbid it to."

Both Lupin and Regulus turn to stare at me, the former with puzzlement and the latter with his eyes narrowed, a hateful look in his eyes.

"You what?" Regulus asks darkly, and takes a couple of steps towards me. "You…you forbid my elf to leave this place?" He asks with a menacing look.

I swallow hard and shake my head slightly, trying not to be affected by his behaviour. "No, I – "

"Do you have any  _fucking_  idea what that means? Do you?" Regulus asks slowly, his voice still low but cold.

I open and close my mouth a couple of times, feeling slightly intimidated as his eyes flash dangerously. Why is he so…angry?

Lupin clears his throat and fixes a hard look at Regulus. "Calm down, Regulus. You know Harry didn't have any other choice. You know Kreacher knows too much about the Order. We can't let it leave the house anymore, not when its Master isn't here to supervise it," he says calmly, even though his eyes are blazing at Regulus, a hint of warning in them.

Regulus stares at Lupin, and then me. "I suppose this means I have to leave the house then, if I wish to  _eat._ " He says blankly and turns on his heels and leaves the kitchen.

I gape after him. "Is that – does – has he been here the whole time, without anything to eat?" I ask from Lupin, feeling horrified.

Lupin rolls his eyes. "Of course not. He's merely being dramatic. I have produced him all the necessary supplies whenever I've visited him. We still can't risk for him to leave the house either," he says wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I just haven't supplied him the alcohol he apparently has been overusing…" He adds and then turns to follow Regulus with a tired look on his face. "Come on, Harry."

This is not what I expected…at all. We walk to the second landing and find Regulus sitting in the library, in an armchair, staring at the empty fireplace. He turns towards us with a contemplative look in his eyes.

"I apologise. I haven't been treating my guests properly," He says aloofly, and I'm not sure if he's being scornful or apologetic.

Lupin gives him a nod and then Regulus speaks again, "I'd like to speak with Potter. If you don't mind, Lupin." He says expressionlessly and takes a sip of the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler.

I give Lupin a reassuring look as he lifts his brows at me in hesitation.

"I'll be downstairs," Lupin says with a tight smile before exiting the library.

I walk towards Regulus, feeling nervous. His eyes are trained at the glass in his hand. I sit down on the couch, close to his armchair and gnaw at my bottom lip as I try to think what to say to him.

This is not how I wanted to see him, to talk to him – about us, or what is going between us. It seems like a thousand years ago when we were here by ourselves the last time. And so much has happened after that. Now the only thing I can think of, is how sorry I am for him, and how miserable he must be. At least, we both might have someone who truly understands how the other feels. And what we've lost.

"How are you?" I ask cautiously.

He swallows hard before placing the glass back to the coffee table and leans forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Brilliant." He says plainly, not looking at me.

I purse my lips and give him a pointed look, even though he hasn't even glanced at me. "Oh? I dunno, somehow, it doesn't seem like you are," I say grimly.

He shakes his head slightly and pushes the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Don't. Don't act like you have any idea – "

Annoyance surges through me. "But I do!" I interrupt him with a rough voice. "I do know. Don't you get that?" I ask angrily, my jaw tight as I try to keep my temper in check. "I've lost him too."

He whirls to look at me, his eyes narrowed. "And whose fault is that?" He asks darkly.

I let out an outraged scoff, losing the ability to speak. He's blaming me? He's blaming me for Sirius's…No. No, no, no, I can't think of it. I feel a lump forming in the back of my throat. It's bad enough that the thought follows me into my dreams every night, but hearing it from someone else is…unbearable.

"I'm…I…" I say, my voice faltering, not able to say anything to him. Not able to deny it.

His grey eyes molten with rage. "If you hadn't gone there…If you'd just fucking stayed where you were supposed to – I'd…I'd have my brother," He says harshly, his face slightly scrunched up, a pained look in his eyes.

There's a pressing silence during which we merely stare at each other, his eyes filled with grief and mine…with regret.

I swallow hard and take a stuttering breath. "I know," I give him a bitter nod. "I know that…And there's not a day gone by that I haven't regretted it," I say with a stricken voice, swallowing the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. There's no use for excuses – even if there are good ones. I checked. I flooed to see if he was at Grimmauld Place. But no one was there to answer. What was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to let it go? Who would've let it go after that?

He looks away to take a sip from his drink – and empties the whole glass in one gulp. The glass makes a heavy thud as it slams against the table.

"I think you should leave now," He says quietly, almost pleadingly, his voice trembling.

I press my lips together, willing away the burning in my eyes and what follows after. I want nothing more than to keep apologising, to make him feel better. But I can't. Because I'm the reason he's lost his brother. I'm the reason Sirius went to the Ministry in the first place. I'm the reason he's dead.

* * *

**The Burrow, August 31st 1996**

The last weeks of summer have been mostly gloomy and dull, even though I have been with my friends and my second favourite place in this world – the Burrow.

As we visited Diagon Alley a couple of weeks ago to get everything necessary for school, we ran into Malfoy and his mother at Madam Malkins. After the unfortunate encounter, Ron, Hermione and I saw Malfoy give his mother the slip and sneak into Knockturn Alley. Naturally, we followed him under the Cloak and saw him doing business with Mr. Borgin at Borgin and Burkes antique shop. Apparently, Malfoy wanted to fix something, so badly he even threatened Borgin with someone called Fenrir Greyback. There wasn't much more information to be discovered from their short meeting, and thus Malfoy's business remains a mystery.

What bothers me the most in the whole thing was the satisfied look on Malfoy's face as he left the shop – a sure sign it can't be anything good. After discussing it with Hermione and Ron thoroughly for a couple of days, they became disinterested by Malfoy's possible schemes, which only managed to annoy me more.

"Yes, we've already agreed it was fishy, Harry," Hermione says, giving Ron a meaningful look from the windowsill where she's sitting at, rifling through her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation. "But haven't we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?"

"Maybe he's broken his Hand of Glory?" Ron suggest from the floor where he's twiddling with his broomstick and giving it a wax. "Remember that shrivelled-up arm Malfoy had?"

"But what about when he said, 'Don't forget to keep that one safe'?" I say knowingly. "That sounded to me like Borgin's got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both."

"You reckon?" Ron says absently as he checks the balance of the broom handle.

"Yeah, I do," I say impatiently. When neither of my friends say anything, I continue, "Malfoy's father's in Azkaban. Don't you think Malfoy'd like revenge?"

Ron looks up at me with his brows lifted in confusion. "Malfoy, revenge? What can he do about it?"

"That's my point, I don't know!" I say with a frustrated sigh. "But he's up to something and I think we should take it seriously. His father's a Death Eater and…" my voice trails off as I gaze out of the window.

That must be it. Malfoy…Malfoy is a Death Eater! He has to be!

"Harry?" Hermione says carefully. "What's wrong?"

"Your scar's not hurting again, is it?" Ron asks with a nervous voice.

"He's a Death Eater," I say quietly, still staring at the window, not really seeing anything through it. "He must've replaced his father as a Death Eater," I say and turn to look at the others.

There's a short silence, and then Ron bursts in laughter "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It seems very unlikely, Harry," Hermione says dubiously. "What makes you think…?"

"In Madam Malkin's. She didn't touch him, but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark," I explain, as if it is obvious.

Ron and Hermione share another meaningful look. I resist the urge to roll my eyes, as I know they're not convinced. We continue to argue for a bit, until I leave the room to get my Quidditch gear cleaned up before leaving to Hogwarts. I'll prove them wrong.


	16. Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story continues, slowly but surely. And Harry and Regulus will meet again! ...well...in about 2 chapters :D  
> Thank you for reading, and especially for letting me know your thoughts on this fic! :)

 

**Chapter 16: Lies**

**Hogwarts, September 14th 1996**

"When do you reckon your next lesson with Dumbledore is gonna be?" Ron asks quietly as we walk down the stairs towards the Great Hall on Saturday morning.

I give him a slight shrug. "Dunno," I say lamely, still feeling a bit confused from the first lesson, which occurred a week ago.

In our first lesson, Dumbledore showed me a memory he had acquired from Bob Ogden, an employee of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Ogden was visiting a man named Morfin Gaunt, who was suspected of performing magic in front of a Muggle. I then learned that Morfin was in fact Voldemort's uncle, who lived with Marvolo and Merope; Voldemort's grandfather and mother. It was all very fascinating, to learn about Voldemort's past and his family, but I haven't yet put it together how exactly will the knowledge help me survive, as Dumbledore seemed to think.

The past two weeks have been busy, and if I thought that the sixth year in Hogwarts would be easier compared to the fifth, since we don't have to sit our NEWTs until next year, I was badly mistaken. The workload is enormous and the professors are expecting more and more from us. I haven't got a clue how Hermione manages all Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Potions, while I only have five subjects and after two weeks it feels like I'm completely worn out.

"Should we go see Hagrid today? I think we owe him an explanation," Hermione asks after a short silence, chewing her lip, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

We haven't really spoken to Hagrid after the school started, and haven't even seen him that often, as Hagrid doesn't eat his meals at the staff table anymore. I hope he's not hurt that the three of us are not taking Care of Magical Creatures anymore.

"We've got Quidditch try-outs this morning!" Ron says exasperatedly. "And we're supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explanation to what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"

"We didn't hate it!" Hermione says persistently and takes a seat at our house table in the Great Hall.

"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the Skrewts," Ron says sullenly as we sit down side by side, opposite to Hermione. "And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his gormless brother — we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed."

"I hate not talking to Hagrid," Hermione says quietly, frowning at the table.

"We'll go down after Quidditch," I say, trying to assure her. I miss Hagrid too, but there're so many other things on my plate at the moment. For example, Quidditch.

"But just so you know, trials might take all morning, since so many students are hoping to join the team," I warn her, not able to stop the nervous tone in my voice. Why are so many students suddenly interested playing Quidditch? I don't recall past years' trials to have had so many eager students joining the team. "I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden," I mutter, trying to ignore the tenseness I'm feeling.

Hermione rolls her eyes as she spreads butter on her toast. "Oh, come on, Harry," she says with an exasperated look. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable," she continues simply, as if it was obvious.

I almost choke on my cereal as Ron makes a pretend gagging noise into his scrambled eggs.

Fanciable? Me? But…

Hermione gives us both a frustrated look before turning back to me. "Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you 'the Chosen One' — well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?"

I suddenly feel very hot, and my cheeks prickle slightly in embarrassment. At the same time, I feel a pang of resentment, since the one person whom I think I'd like to be fascinated by me, hates me. I try to shake the thoughts away before focusing back on Hermione, who is apparently continuing her list of reasons why to be spellbound by Harry Potter.

"…from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway. And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either," Hermione finishes, ignoring Ron as he tries to get her attention.

Her eyes sweep over my face, studying my features. Seeing straight from my eyes what or whom I'm thinking about, she gives me a sad smile.

We were at the Burrow, a couple of weeks before leaving towards Hogwarts, lounging on the warm grass in the Weasleys' orchards, watching as Ron and Ginny practiced Quidditch.

_"What did he say?" Hermione asks quietly, her eyes trained at Ron and Ginny, a small grimace appearing to her lips as Ron nearly collides with a goal post._

_"Who?" I mutter absently, making a mental note that if Ginny would circle from the left, it would give her better advantage to the outer post…_

_Hermione huffs, and I glance at her. She gives me a pointed look, and I realise who is she talking about. Regulus._

_I give her a tense shrug. "Well…what you'd expect, I reckon," I say, my voice tight as I move my gaze back to Ron and Ginny, even though I'm not really looking at them._

_Hermione stays silent and I can see her studying me from the corner of my eye._

_I let out a sigh and rub my neck, tired of even thinking about my visit to Grimmauld Place. "He, um…didn't want to talk about it," I say – lie – since I don't have it in me to repeat what he said to me. I'm so…so angry with him, for blaming me, but at the same time, so…disgusted with myself for being so stupid, so careless, so naïve..._

_"And, well, I'm apparently the last person he wants to see right now," I continue thickly, the condemning look he gave me then still bothering me._

_And it's not like I was expecting him to be ready to talk about…Sirius. At least, not yet. Because the mere thought that my godfather's gone…I can't handle it. But I just…I wanted to see how Regulus was, to let him know that he's not alone. That I too have lost someone._

_But I sure as hell wasn't expecting him to say those things to me._

_Hermione frowns at me as she gnaws her bottom lip in thought. "I'm sorry, Harry…" She says quietly. "You've both lost so much," she continues, her eyes glittering._

_"Yeah." I say gruffly, trying to put my focus on Ron and Ginny, who are now bickering about the last goal Ginny made._

_"I think…I think you both probably need time. You know - time to heal, before you can talk about Sirius…or think about anything else…" She says hesitantly._

_"Yeah." I say again, more forcefully, not really in the mood to talk about my godfather or his brother. Not really having the strength to think about them without getting angry and frustrated…and sad. I stand up on my feet and grab my broom before turning to look at her._

_"You up for a two-a-side?" I ask, aiming for a light tone, as if we hadn't been discussing anything pressing._

_Hermione sighs and gives me a contemplative look. She then shakes her head, standing up as well. "No. I think I'll go back inside. I have to start with my Arithmancy essay." She says astutely, and waves at the others before leaving towards the Burrow._

_I hear Ron complaining quietly about Hermione's inability to unwind as he stares at our friend making her way back towards the house, her bushy hair bouncing against her back._

The post owls arrive, and I'm shaken from my thoughts. It seems that students are receiving even more mail than usual this year, assumedly from their worried families. I feel slightly bitter, since I don't really have anyone who'd write to me. The only one who did is now gone, and somehow, losing Sirius feels even worse.

Hermione opens up her copy of the Daily Prophet, and we learn that there have been more Dementor attacks and that Stan Shunpike has been arrested – which is outrageous, since, based on the article, he was detained after gossiping about Death Eaters' secret plans. It's obvious he wasn't hurting anyone, and it is likely that he was only trying to make out he knew more than he did.

"They probably want to look as though they're doing something," Hermione says with a deep frown. "People are terrified — you know the Patil twins' parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night."

"What!" Ron says, gaping. "But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!"

Hermione looks uncertain. "I don't think we've got him all the time," she says, almost inaudibly, glancing at the staff table. "Haven't you noticed? His seat's been empty as often as Hagrid's this past week."

I look at the staff table, and see only his empty chair. "I wonder what he's up to…" I mutter quietly, glancing at my friends.

Hermione chews the inside of her cheek. "I think he's left the school to do something with the Order," she whispers. "I mean…it's all looking serious, isn't it?"

I give her a grim nod, thinking about the day before, when our classmate Hannah was taken out of Herbology – her mother had been found dead earlier that morning. Hannah left Hogwarts immediately.

We eventually leave the Great Hall and walk towards the Quidditch pitch, where I'm going to run my very first try-outs.

* * *

"I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty," Ron says thoughtfully as we walk across the grounds, towards Hagrid's Hut. "Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of spin on it —"

"Yes, yes, you were magnificent," Hermione says, with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

"I was better than that McLaggen anyway," Ron continues smugly. "Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded…"

I hum in agreement and glance at Hermione – whose face has turned pink. What? Is that…has she got something to do with the try-outs? I arch a brow at her, and she gives me a helpless look, which outright confirms my suspicions. Has she really Confunded McLaggen? Bloody hell…If McLaggen ever finds out, he'll be furious, and most certainly would blame me for it, as he already thinks I'm favouring my best mate.

Ron's oblivious to our little wordless conversation as he keeps on describing his every move and every goal he saved in great detail.

As we reach our destination we run into Buckbeak, which is tied in front of Hagrid's hut. The Hippogriff's sharp eyes follow our every movement, and even though I'm sure it remembers us by now, the creature still lets out a small screech, its sharp talons rising stiffly from the ground.

While Hermione makes a nervous comment about the creature, I quickly go closer to Buckbeak and give it a low bow, without breaking eye contact. A second later, the Hippogriff bows back to me.

"Hey there," I say quietly to Buckbeak after Ron and Hermione have performed their bows without problems but still made some distance to the creature.

Buckbeak takes a couple of steps towards me and pokes at my arm lightly with its large beak. I lift my hand slowly, holding my palm up. "How are you?"

Buckbeak makes a small croaking sound and nuzzles its beak against my palm. I can't help but smile sadly at the creature, as I'm flooded with memories of Grimmauld. Memories of Sirius. I wonder if Buckbeak misses him as well.

The Hippogriff blinks at me, and give it a small nod. "Yeah, me too," I say softly, and from the corner of my eye I notice that Hermione and Ron have moved further along, towards Hagrid's front door.

I wonder when did Buckbeak come back to Scotland? I remember Dumbledore mentioning something about Hagrid picking it up from Grimmauld Place, but I'm curious to know how long had Regulus been taking care of it. Especially since he rarely went to his mother's old bedroom after meeting Buckbeak the first time. A small chuckle emerges from the base of my throat at the memory.

I wonder how he is doing…Living alone, his family gone, trapped inside that house, with anger and resentment keeping him company. Much like Sirius seemed to be after the Order was reformed.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, October 13th 1996**

I'm waiting him in the kitchen, and there he is, precisely as he said he would, not a minute late.

"Severus," I say coolly, studying him carefully. My fingers are nearly twitching from the need to grab my wand at the sight of him.

A faint smirk lifts the corner of his mouth as he takes a seat opposite to me, his eyes sweeping over me. "No need for that, I assure you."

Annoyed that he's managed to perceive my thoughts so well, I lift a challenging brow at him. "Oh?"

Severus rolls his eyes. "By all means, say what you are bursting to get out," he drawls.

I narrow my eyes at him, the air around us darkening slightly. "Are you behind this?" I ask, my jaw tight, and he has to see something else than coldness in my eyes, since his expression softens slightly.

"Yes and no." He says, almost resignedly, and I can see a hint of an inward struggle in him.

Severus stares at me for a while before he continues, "I had a reasonable assumption what the Dark Lord was planning. I didn't possess all the details…But I knew. The minute Potter told me that your brother was being held his captive, I knew," he says grimly.

Anger surges through me. I look away from him and press my eyes closed, gritting my teeth together so hard my jaw aches.

"I had no intention to let Potter go to the Ministry, but the boy managed to slip away while I was absent a mere moment."

I give him a dark look, and Severus shifts in his seat, perhaps from uncomfortableness, perhaps from guilt.

"Why?" I ask sharply. "Why didn't you tell Sirius? When you contacted us to see if my brother was here? Why didn't you tell  _me_?" I ask, my voice cracking, the feelings of bitterness and anger trying to take over.

Severus sighs wearily, looking so old all of a sudden that I'm reminded he's not a young man anymore. "…I did tell you. Almost a year ago, I told you about my suspicions." He says slowly, a calculating look in his eyes.

I shake my head with frustration, shutting away all the maddening feelings I've got circling in my mind. Keeping myself from cursing my…old friend, if he even is that anymore. He's told me, yes, that he had suspicions. But somehow, it seems that he knew when the Dark Lord was going to carry out his plans.

"I was under the impression that Potter was with the previous Headmistress, but obviously I was mistaken. And for that, I apologise." He says solemnly.

It's the best he can do, I know. Because I know him. But I still need to know more. "How did you know Potter was there? In the Ministry?"

Severus's eyes flash with something, and a shiver runs down my spine as I realise. The summoning.

"After the Dark Lord requested his followers to meet him, I asked a previous Headmaster, Everard, to see if Potter indeed was at the Ministry. After receiving confirmation, I contacted you," he says with an unreadable look.

I give him an absent nod, the events of last June running in my head. Severus had known about the Dark Lord's plans, and had had a good assumption when everything was going to happen. Severus had told us that Potter thought that my brother was in the Ministry, but he hadn't mentioned about anything else. Once he had found out where Potter was, he had contacted us immediately. I know this speaks for his allegiance to the Order, but even if Dumbledore trusts the man, I'm not so naïve to believe that he's innocent, that he hasn't had a hand in anything. I know this isn't everything. There's still more. There's always more.

"Vance?" I ask suddenly, disappointment crawling in my stomach as I see him looking quickly away.

I let out an exhausted sigh. "…Don't you ever get tired of it?" He knows what I mean. Tired of betraying the people he cares about, tired of being the reason for somebody's pain. "How many others have you watched die?"

He huffs and a small frown appears between his brows, his black eyes revealing his thoughts, revealing him. It's one of the few and rare moments I've seen regret in him, seen the fear and self-hate, seen him through the hard and cold mask.

"Lately, only those whom I could not save," he says quietly.

* * *

**Hogwarts, October 22nd 1996**

" _Did you know — then?_ "

" _Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark Wizard of all time? No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is."_

"You know, sounds like he was a bit mental, even as a kid," Ron says after we've taken our places around one of the gnarled Snargaluff stumps, continuing our discussion from earlier and pulling me back from my thoughts.

I was only able to tell Ron and Hermione about my last night's lesson with Dumbledore on our way to Herbology, as they'd both been asleep when I got back to the common room, and there had been just too many listening ears this morning at breakfast. But now I kind of wish I hadn't told them. It's not that I don't trust them, it's just that I'm suddenly not in the mood for speculating the memories Dumbledore showed me.

Last night we viewed Dumbledore's memory, from a time when he went to see young Tom Riddle to the orphanage. In the memory, he told Voldemort that he was a wizard, and that there was a school for his kind, where one could study magic.

I can't stop thinking about how…how similar we are, Voldemort and I, at least when he was younger. How neither of us knew anything about magic, but still thought that there had to be something special, something different in this world. How we both felt that there was something different about us. Raised without parents, without love, both so eager to accept being a wizard. To accept a purpose for one's life.

"But I still don't get why Dumbledore's showing you all this. I mean, it's really interesting and everything, but what's the point?" Ron asks with a thoughtful look.

"I think it's fascinating," Hermione says excitedly. "It makes absolute sense to know as much about Voldemort as possible. How else will you find out his weaknesses?"

I let out a weary sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right…" I say and try to figure out something else to speak about. "So how was Slughorn's latest party?"

"Oh! It was quite fun, really," Hermione says as she pulls on her protective goggles. "I mean, he drones on about famous exploits a bit, and he absolutely fawns on McLaggen because he's so well connected, but he gave us some really nice food and he introduced us to Gwenog Jones…"

My focus drifts away once Ron and Hermione start to bicker about Gwenog Jones, the Captain of the Holyhead Harpies, and I suddenly remember the moment I was about to leave Dumbledore's office last night. How my gaze had fallen upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested during our last lesson, but was no longer there. I remember Dumbledore was wearing it the day we visited Slughorn, but the next time I saw it, the ring had been on that table. And now it is gone. I recall the secretive look in Dumbledore's eyes as I questioned the ring's current location, how he had ushered me out right after. I wonder…

I'm shaken back from my thoughts again as Professor Sprout speaks with a brisk voice, "Quite enough chat over here! You're lagging behind, everybody else has started, and Neville's already got his first pod!"

We hastily start to work with our lump of wood and after a tough but victorious wrestling match we manage to pull a pod from it. Hermione and Ron start arguing, mostly about the upcoming Christmas party Slughorn is organising, and also about how Ron is not part of Slughorn's selected group of students.

I know there's something else underneath all the quarreling, that there is more between the two of them than just friendship. I've been suspecting it since last year, but now it seems even more probable. The thing is…after everything that happened with Cho, and after everything that didn't happen with Regulus, I'm not sure how I feel about my two best friends having more than friendly feelings for each other?

What if they start dating, and then break up? What if they have a falling out and they'll never be friends again? Then I would have to choose one of them, I guess? And whatever I'd choose, would still be wrong. Whenever Hermione and Ron have been fighting, it has been awful. And I don't know how I'd be able to handle that anymore.

What if they start dating, and then forget about me? What if they'd be so besotted with each other, that they'd want nothing more than to be by themselves?

After a couple of more minutes them bickering, I accidentally break a bowl while trying to open up a pod, and my friends stop speaking altogether, as if remembering we're in a middle of a class, and I'm still with them. The rest of our lesson goes without another word from any of us.


	17. Lonely Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter, and after this one, our brooding boys finally, finally, meet again. So stay tuned, and let me know what you think of this one! :)

 

**Chapter 17: Lonely Together**

**Grimmauld Place, November 4th 1996**

I wake up gasping for air, my wand at the ready before I can even see my surroundings clearly. I'm in my room, and everything seems to be in order, but I still flick my wand to test the wards of the house.

No one else is here, just Kreacher and I. There's nothing but silence.

I groan as my head starts to spin, and I drop back against the pillow as the nauseating feeling takes over, debating if I should just try to get some sleep or crawl out of bed with a Sober-up-potion. But then I remember that I don't have any. Lupin, the bloody wanker, took the last vials and all the ingredients for that sweet little remedy, I reckon, trying to make me quit drinking.

"Fuck…" I moan as my stomach lurches uncomfortably. The morning after truly is the worst.

And it's not that I've been drinking daily, or even weekly – although I might have been, since sometimes I really don't seem to notice time going by – but yesterday…It would've been – it was his birthday. And I saw him again. Sirius.

During the past four months I've seen my brother several times, and since during many of those times I've been completely sober, I don't believe our meetings to be some sort of drunken false memories my brain has made in order to shield me from mental pain.

No, I still don't believe he's gone. The date in the tapestry keeps flickering every now and then, and he seems so… _real_ …every time we speak. I've been trying to research every possible fact, legend and myth about the archway I've been able to get my hands on, but so far, I have found nothing. Not even Sirius has learned anything about the place he's trapped in, and since he doesn't dare to speak to the others, there's really not much to go on.

I rub my temple as my head starts to thrum slowly, but surely. Fucking hangover. I thought only Muggles were supposed to suffer from it, since us wizarding folk have magic to solve these things.

"KREACHER," I croak, and take a steadying breath as my stomach rolls again.

The elf appears next to my bed with a loud crack, the sound of it vibrating in my skull nastily. "Master Regulus summoned?" Kreacher asks cautiously.

I let out a weary sigh. "Bring me something…anything…please." I rasp and the elf snaps its fingers, immediately summoning a tall glass of cold water and a phial of blue potion.

"Pain Relief potion, master Regulus. Kreacher is not have any means to get master anything…better," Kreacher says apologetically, self-reproach evident in its eyes.

I give the elf a sharp nod, and regret it instantly, as my head starts to pound with pain. I let out a small wince before I speak to my elf. "It's okay, Kreacher. Could you please prepare me some breakfast? I'll be downstairs…shortly," I say, as I swallow quickly, the image of breakfast making bile to rise into my throat.

As soon as Kreacher disapparates, I stagger up from my bed and rush into the bathroom to empty my stomach.

"Ugh…" I groan a few minutes later as I slump down on the floor of my bathroom, leaning my head against the cold tile wall.

His laugh echoes in my head. I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I feel the sharp tug of pain that follows.

_"Feel better?" He asks innocently._

_"Bugger off." I mumble back. I can feel the pounding in my head getting worse. "What did you do to me? I feel like shit."_

_Sirius sniggers. "Oh, brother. This was all you. You insisted on mixing up vodka and Firewhiskey," he says with delight in his voice._

_I groan again. "Please stop talking."_

I blink, feeling out of sorts as the memory dissolves from my mind, leaving me to sit alone, in the empty and cold bathroom.

It felt so real. Almost as real as last night's conversation with my brother.

_"You've been drinking again, brother," Sirius says, giving me a disapproving look._

_I arch a brow at him. "Yeah? Who cares if I'm sober or not…" I mutter sullenly and look around us. The chamber is as cold and dark as it has always been, nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes._

_Sirius stares at me, working his jaw. "I care," He says quietly, a defiant tone in his voice._

_A flicker of anger rolls in my chest. "Well, you're not here with me, brother," I say dryly, immediately regretting my words._

_A deep frown takes place between his brows, his eyes flashing with hurt, because of what I said. The topic is something we've decided not to bring up. We've agreed not to go there. We've agreed to have hope._

_"Sirius – " I start guiltily, but he interrupts me._

_"Forget it, Reggie. I don't want to waste this time by arguing with you," He says with a sad smile, his expression hardening a bit. "Although, I thought we agreed you're not drinking anymore?" He says with a half-hearted smirk. "Have got nothing left for me once I manage to come back, since you've been sozzling your way through every bottle in England that has alcohol in it…" He says lightly, a hint of a grin on his lips._

_I can't help but smile at him, but then I remember why exactly was I drinking last night. I look away and clear my throat. "Well, it's not every day your big brother turns thirty-seven…" I say, my voice slightly thick as I try to swallow the lump from my throat._

_"Shit…" Sirius merely says, and as I look at him again, I can see the stricken look in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Reggie…I'm sorry that I can't be there with you."_

_There's a short silence, and then, "FUCK!" He yells, pulling his hair in frustration. "I fucking hate this! Haven't I fucking suffered enough?!" He continues, his words aimed to the ceiling high up._

We don't usually have any excess time to deal with, since our meetings are almost over before they have even properly started. But what I've gathered, is that my brother is in some kind of midpoint – not with us, but not yet in nothingness. And how he's been describing everything, it seems that there are others, who are  _past_  that midpoint, but that could mean anything. Souls, ghosts, his own mind playing tricks. You name it.

I have no idea how long can he stay there, and is it even possible for him to return, but I know I don't have any choice than to believe he'll come back.

With a deep sigh, I stand up and make my way downstairs.

As I open the kitchen door, I stop with surprise. Lupin's here, but Kreacher hasn't come to inform me.

"Regulus," He says kindly, a cup of tea between his hands as he studies me.

I grunt in reply and take a seat opposite to him, and start to load my plate with toast, bacon, sausages and eggs. At least my appetite has come back. Between a bite toast and a gulp of tea, I glance at him. There're dark circles under Lupin's eyes. I suppose he too remembers what day was yesterday.

There's a short silence before he speaks. "Do you still see him?" He asks with a careful tone.

I chew the mouthful of bread slowly, contemplating my answer. As I take in the worried look in his eyes, the uneasiness in his posture, I decide not to burden him with my thoughts. With the truth.

"Well…of course I dream about him. Everything around me reminds me of him," I say simply, and take another sip of my tea.

He seems to be weighing my reply, and then nods slowly. "I know what you mean. Sirius is…often in my thoughts," he says with a gloomy look.

I look away in search of the paper, as I'm really not in the mood for continuing this conversation. I spot the Daily Prophet at the end of the table, and after shaking it open and propping it against the pitcher of pumpkin juice, I hear Lupin clearing his throat, and then silence.

"…What?" I say dryly after a moment, feeling his hesitation in the air. I glance at him over the paper, where I've been skimming the article under the headline DEATH EATERS: HOW THEY CHALLENGE SECURITY MEASURES.

Lupin scratches his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. "There is actually something important I would like to discuss with you."

"I gathered," I mutter, and wait for him to continue.

His lips twitch slightly, but then he becomes serious and frowns at me. "The Order is going to assemble again, and I was sent here to –"

"To ask if you could use my home as your Headquarters again?" I interrupt him with an arched brow.

Lupin lifts a hand in reassurance. "We of course understand if you wish not to," he says quickly.

I stare at him for a while in silence. "You are trying to tell me that the Order hasn't gathered after what happened in the Ministry? After the Dark Lord came in the open, and let the whole wizarding world know he was still alive?" I ask sceptically. I'm not buying it.

Lupin's cheeks tinge with red. "Yes, well, the Order  _has_ gathered, but…" He trails off, looking embarrassed.

"You were sparing my feelings? Giving me time to heal?" I ask sharply, feeling annoyed all of a sudden.

Lupin sighs wearily and gives me a determined look. "Frankly, we did not want to include you since you were a liability."

My brows lift with surprise. I wasn't really expecting him to say that, even though he might be correct. Lupin stays quiet as I process the information.

"And now?" I ask curiously.

Lupin looks resigned. "We could use Grimmauld Place, as it is the most heavily protected homes we know of. And…we could use your knowledge." He says simply, a considering look in his eyes. "That is, if you're done with that shit," he continues and gives a meaningful glance to the empty Firewhiskey bottle on the corner of the table.

I let out an amused huff. "Well, might as well be, since you're the one keeping that shit away from me…" I mutter, and Lupin chuckles faintly.

There's a short silence, and then Lupin speaks again, his expression shifting to a hesitant one. "Have you talked with Harry? After summer?"

I look away and frown at the fireplace, a mix of shame and guilt filling my head. No, I daresay I haven't. I wanted to…I wanted to see him, to write to him and…well, I wanted to apologise for what I said. I know he wasn't the reason my brother died. I know who's responsible for  _that_. But it just felt too…difficult, contacting him after the way we parted. I've come to understand that my brother meant the world to him, that Potter must've felt like he got a piece of his parents back through my brother. And then it was all taken away from him, again. And I made sure he didn't forget how his actions played a part in that.

"Regulus?"

I swallow hard and turn back to look at Lupin, clearing any hint of emotion from my face. "No. No, I haven't." I say tightly.

Lupin gives me a long, sharp look, before he sighs and his expression becomes conflicted. "It's not too late, you know?" He says quietly, his eyes searching something from mine. "I don't know the specifics what went on between you two, but it seems that both of you have lost someone you loved. And you might be able to console each other," he continues, a sad smile on his lips.

I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the sharp tug of pain and longing for my brother that are caused by his words. But I can't ignore the feeling of guilt that nags me whenever I think about Harry Potter.

"Yeah," I say with a curt nod. "Maybe I'll write to him."

* * *

**Hogwarts, November 30th 1996**

I stare through the window, at the snow falling slowly outside as I sit in the common room, unable to focus on my Transfiguration essay. Even though I have managed to do more schoolwork during the past few weeks I have ever done, I'm still having a hard time doing it right now, since a group of annoying girls sit at the next table and do nothing but stare at me and…giggle.

"Hey, Harry," Neville says and drops down to sit opposite to me, blocking the girls' view. I can hear them making disappointed noises.

"Neville!" I say and give him a thankful look. Neville frowns as he takes in my wide grin, but then he understands as he glances over his shoulder. "Been dodging some mistletoes lately?" He asks with a smirk.

I narrow my eyes at him. "I swear if I see one more branch hanging in my way, I'll set it on fire," I grunt, feeling frustrated. "I've been late from class three times this week, and I've been lucky that none of those have been DADA, since I know Snape at least won't take any excuses," I continue darkly. And it's not like they're innocent, plain and regular mistletoes. I know for a fact that some of them are actually charmed to keep you in place if you manage to stumble across them, and that the charm breaks only when you kiss the person who placed the charm. Which might be unfortunate if that said person is nowhere around.

Neville chuckles and then clears his throat, sobering up. "Yeah, well. I reckon they just want to get you to invite them to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party…" He says with a shrug.

I let out a groan. "I'm still trying to figure out how to get out of it…" I grumble.

Neville shakes his head with an amused glint in his eyes. "You won't. I heard Slughorn asking Hermione about your schedule…seems like he's planning to get you there."

I sigh and rub my temple, not in the mood to think about Slughorn and his stupid parties. "When did you last see Hermione?" I ask instead, as I've not seen my friend after classes, and not at dinner either.

It is not exactly uncommon, at least in the past couple of weeks. Since…well, since Ron and Lavender hooked up. And now Ron and Hermione are fighting, or, they're not even speaking to each other, so I don't really know what they are anymore.

Hermione doesn't want to stay in the common room when Ron and Lavender are there, and since the couple is mostly glued to each other and into the common room couch, Hermione has been spending all her time at the library when she's not in class.

Neville looks uncomfortable. "Just a while ago, when I was heading back to the tower. She was, um…coming from the girls' bathroom…not looking well," he says quietly, glancing towards the couch in front of the fire, where our friend and his girlfriend are situated, having spent the entire night their lips locked.

I let out a weary sigh. "Yeah…I better go look for her, then…" I mutter and put my schoolwork into my satchel. I give Neville a nod and then make my way towards the portrait hole, pulling the Marauder's Map from my bag to check she's gone to the library.

Just before I've managed to step outside, the painting swings open, revealing Hermione.

"Oh. Hi, Harry!" She says, a tight smile on her lips as she glances warily into the room. As soon as her eyes stop at the couch, her expression becomes cold.

"I'm actually going to go to my dormitory, so, if you'll excuse me," She says quickly, her voice too high to be normal, even though she tries. I grab her hand, stopping her in her tracks.

"Hermione," I say quietly. "Don't, please? Can't we all just…stop this?" I say helplessly and pull her closer to me so I don't have to raise my voice.

Hermione narrows her eyes at me. "There's nothing to stop, Harry," she says sharply, and glances towards the fireplace again, where Ron and Lavender continue to be oblivious of our presence. "…apparently," she continues with a look of mild disgust as the smacking sounds reach our ears.

I squeeze her hand, trying to get her attention back to me. "Are you mad because they're together? That he's snogging her?" I ask quietly, trying to get confirmation to my suspicions, as she hasn't really said anything of the sort to me.

Hermione scoffs. "Ron can very well  _snog_ whomever he wishes!" She hisses to me, "I am not his mother. And as he's  _clearly_  forgotten his friends, I think I'm better without him as well!" She whispers furiously, and snatches her hand away, whirling around and storming to the girls' dormitory.

The sight of her striding across the room must've gotten Ron's attention, since he speaks to me, for the first time during this evening. "Hey mate, you going somewhere? It's getting late, so…be careful, eh?" He says with a sly smirk, before returning his attention back to Lavender.

I groan inwardly and decide to call it a night as well. My best friends are fighting, barely speaking to me either, and setting aside the short discussion with Neville today, even my other classmates seem too busy to hang out with me. I've never felt more alone.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, December 13th 1996**

On Friday night, I'm spending my time in the library when my cousin emerges through the doors.

"Is he hiding in here?" Nymphadora demands as she walks further.

I supress the urge to roll my eyes. "Good evening, cousin," I drawl, making her huff as she walks to the seating area and drops down in an armchair, next to the couch I'm situated on. "Please. Make yourself at home."

Nymphadora gives me a bored look. "As if you aren't here every night, eagerly waiting for someone – well, Remus – to keep you company," She says bitingly.

I lift my brows at her. "Trouble in paradise?" I ask innocently, knowing very well that Lupin has broken off their little…agreement, for some moronic, noble reason. We haven't gone into details, since our conversations usually are only the overall picture of a situation, but even though Lupin hasn't said much about it, I know how to read the rest.

Nymphadora glowers at me, and I lift my hands in surrender, not wanting to end up in the wrong end of her temper. Or her wand. "Fine. Can I offer you some tea?" I ask, more genuinely now.

She lets her head fall back against the armchair and gives a grunt of agreement.

I summon Kreacher and ask it to prepare a light snack and tea. Then I merely listen as my cousin starts to speak what is bothering her.

"I just…I don't know what to do…" She says wearily. "I know,  _know,_ how he feels, but…I don't understand it!" She says with a frustrated voice, her eyes closed and her face aimed towards the ceiling.

This isn't the first time she has come here to see me when she's not on guard duty in Hogsmeade, but is the first time she's opening about her relationship with Lupin. I assume she hasn't wanted to bother me with her problems before, or, after the Ministry.

I take a cup of tea from the tray Kreacher has brought us, wishing I'd have Firewhiskey instead, since that would help me bear to listen to the complains that are surely on their way. Because there ought to be plenty of those, knowing how my cousin is, and also…how Lupin is.

It is somewhat strange, how I've somehow managed to get to know these people, my brother's friends, and actually  _wanted_ to get to know them. The indifference I've surely felt towards them at some point has vanished altogether, replaced with…some sort of attachment, I'd say.

My cousin's tirade goes on like I've predicted. After half-an-hour she takes a deep breath and summons a bottle of Firewhiskey from her purse.

I scowl at her. "You had that all this time and you still let me suffer through you whinging without any alcohol?" I ask sullenly as she pours liquor into two tumblers.

She gives me a wry look. "Had to be sure you listen and earn it first," she says simply, and hands me a glass. "Cheers," she says and takes a hefty gulp from her glass.

I follow her lead and relax against the cushions, feeling warmth spreading in me as I sip my drink.

"You do realise how much you resemble your brother?" She says lightly, eyeing the glass in my hand pointedly, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

I give her a slight shrug. "Learned from the best, I suppose." I say, only half-heartedly, and Nymphadora's smile is more wistful than teasing.

"So…you gonna see Harry during the holidays?" She asks abruptly, making me twitch slightly. Her eyes narrow with suspicion.

"Why would I meet him?" I ask stiffly, willing myself to stay disinterested. Why does she ask that? Does she know something? Has she guessed something?

"Just asking," she says, her eyes still watching me carefully. "Heard you guys had some argument over the summer…And now that it's settled that the kids are coming to stay at Burrow for the Christmas…" she continues simply, a curious look in her eyes.

As if the information in our last Order meeting – about Potter spending his Christmas at Burrow and Mrs. Weasley suggesting we'd all get together over the holidays, and thus making me act like a nervous wreck – wasn't enough to make my cousin suspicious.

I clear my throat. "Well, yes. We had." I merely say, looking away.

"Right…" She says quietly, almost knowingly.

I look back at her. "And to answer your question earlier, Lupin is not here. He's on a mission."

She startles, her eyes widen with surprise and worry. "What? Where? Why wasn't this discussed in the last meeting?" She quickly asks, looking disgruntled.

I give her another shrug. "No idea. Came up after that, I suppose," I merely say. I in fact know where Lupin is, since he told me about the mission himself, but asked me not to reveal the information to my cousin. I understand it is a somewhat dangerous task he intends to accomplish; trying to infiltrate a pack of werewolves in the west, trying to gain their trust so that he'd be able to hear any news regarding the Dark Lord and possibly persuade the werewolves to our side.

And when she looks at me as she now does, with a mix of concern and annoyance and torment in her features, I understand Lupin.

And she understands where he's gone.

* * *

**Hogwarts, December 19th 1996**

"Hey Mione," I say as I drop down to sit opposite to her in the library. A shushing sound carries through the quiet place, somewhere behind the shelves, and Hermione gives me a pointed look.

I shrug sheepishly, making room for my books and schoolwork at the table, piling up her books in a neat stack as she focuses on her Charms essay.

Christmas is approaching with a full force, and there's only two days, well, only one day of school left before be board the train and head to Burrow for the holidays. At least I hope we'll all be there.

"Hermione…" I say tentatively as she finishes her essay with a final dot and flicks her wand to the parchment to clean the smudges, making the ink dry faster.

"Hmm?" She hums distractedly, and then glances at me. "Oh, no." She merely says dismissively, knowing exactly what I'm going to ask.

"Please, just…come with us, yeah?" I ask, feeling a bit desperate as she only gives me a stern look. "You don't even have to hang out with him, I mean, I'm there…Ginny's there, the twins, I reckon even Lupin and Tonks…"

Hermione lets out a deep sigh. "Harry…You don't understand."

I shake my head slowly at her. "Yeah, I do. You obviously liked him. But now you can't even be in the same room with him…" I say resignedly.

Hermione frowns and looks away, hurt flashing in her eyes. "I've made my decision. I already told my parents I'll be with them, and we're probably going to see relatives and…" She says, her words ending up with another sigh.

There's a short silence.

"You know, Harry, you should be careful…Apparently, Romilda Vane and her brainless friends are planning to slip you some Love Potion," she suddenly says, as if remembering it, and proceeds to explain how she overheard them in the girls' bathroom.

I let out a scoff. "I'd like to see them try," I grumble. "And if you were there, why didn't you confiscate the potions?" I ask exasperatedly, feeling irritated again.

Hermione rolls her eyes. "They obviously didn't have the potions with them. I'm just warning you. You should take someone to the party, Harry…I think that would get them off of your back for a while," she says, her voice gentle even though her eyes show how frustrated she is.

"Yeah, well. There's no one I…" I mutter, my voice trailing off when a black haired boy with grey intense eyes pop into my mind. I rub the bridge of my nose, shrugging off my thoughts.

"I don't suppose we could go together?" I ask with a small cringe, remembering how annoyed Hermione was in our fourth year when Ron asked her the last minute.

Instead she gives me an embarrassed grimace. "I, uh…I might've asked McLaggen already."

"What?!" I ask loudly, and give her an incredulous look.

Hermione shrugs awkwardly.

I haven't got any time to press further information as Madam Pince stalks around the bookshelf and orders us out since it is near closing time and we are making too much noise, disturbing her precious books. But I know I'm sure as hell not going to let this one slide.


	18. Someone To Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, just cause it's Friday... And I just couldn't wait to give you guys this!

**Chapter 18: Someone To Stay**

**The Hogwarts Express, December 21st 1996**

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asks as soon as we step into an empty compartment and cast a Muffliato to the closed door, knowing there's no trouble using a bit of magic on the train.

I shrug as we take opposite seats on the benches. "I dunno…I mean, I think I should see him…" I say unsurely. "I just…" I mutter. I just don't know if I'm able to face him, even though his letter suggests that he only wants to apologise.

A couple of days ago, on Thursday night, to be exact, I received a letter from Regulus. I didn't really have much time to talk about it with Hermione before this morning, since yesterday we had a busy day with all our classes during the day and Slughorn's Christmas party in the evening.

Hermione lifts her brows a bit. "You never told me what exactly did he say to you when you went to see him in the summer?" She asks with a gentle voice.

I swallow and look away, remembering his words like it was yesterday. How bad they had felt, especially since at least partly, he had been right. I know I didn't kill my godfather, and I'm not the reason he's gone. But I didn't close  _him_ out of my mind, and I blindly believed the visions to be real…

"Harry? Did he…he blamed you for Sirius's…death, didn't he?" Hermione asks very quietly, an anxious look in her eyes.

I frown at the floor and take a steadying breath before nodding lightly. "Yeah."

Hermione lets out an outraged scoff. "He shouldn't have. Harry, that was –"

"No, Hermione. He was right," I say tightly and look at her. "Not…not completely, but…I'm partly to blame." I say, clenching my jaw.

Hermione shakes her head hastily. "No. Harry, no, you're not. You  _know_  who did this. You  _know_  who's behind this all."

"Yeah." I only say wearily, not wanting to talk about my godfather's death. I look out of the window, to the snowy countryside whirling under my gaze as the train pushes forward.

After a short silence Hermione speaks again. "If we're going to determine whether or not you are going to meet him, I think we should hear it again," she says with an expectant look.

I give her a wry glance, but comply since I really need her insight in this.

I pull the folded piece of parchment from my pocket, open it, and read the letter aloud after clearing my throat.

_Potter,_

_I am aware that I might be too late, but I hope you will still take this into consideration._

_I would like to apologise my behaviour the last time we met each other, as I now understand what I said was harsh and caused purely by my own unhappiness._

_To settle matters, if it isn't too inconvenient for you, I would be grateful if you could meet me during the holidays._

_R.A.B._

Hermione chews her bottom lip in thought as I push the letter back to my pocket. "Well?" I ask impatiently.

Hermione hums in thought. "Well, I think you should go," she says slowly. "He obviously wants to apologise in person, and he even has admitted in there that what he said last summer was unreasonable," She continues, nudging her head towards my jacket pocket where I've slipped the letter.

"Yeah…" I say, going over the letter in my head once more. "Yeah. I'll meet him." I say more firmly.

Hermione looks excited. "Great! I'm sure it goes well, Harry." She says with a reassuring smile, and then gives me a meaningful look. "And you know…You might even have an interesting Christmas..."

I arch a brow at her. "As interesting as your night with McLaggen?" I ask, unable to hold it in anymore, now that Ron's not around. I have to admit, I was stunned when I first heard that she was going to take McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party, at least until she told me why. Apparently, she only took him as her date to annoy Ron.

I'm still not sure if that's better than if she was willingly dating the bloke, since now she's only trying to make our friend jealous.

The plan hadn't gone exactly how Hermione had thought, as it seemed that McLaggen didn't have any other aspiration for the evening than to snog my friend senseless and…well…probably get into her knickers. So…she basically spent the night hiding from him.

Hermione groans. "Don't remind me, Harry. I think my lips are permanently bruised because of him," She says with an uncomfortable shiver.

I gape at her. "You actually snogged him?!" I yell just as the door – which we apparently forgot to lock – opens. Ron stands there, with Lavender peeking behind him to our compartment.

"W-What?" Ron mutters quietly, looking from me to Hermione, confusion written all over his face.

Lavender seems to understand the situation more quickly. "Ooooh, you snogged Cormac? At the party?" She gushes, an excited look in her eyes.

Hermione stares stonily at the pair in the doorway.

"Oh, Hermione, can I go tell Parvati?" Lavender continues, even though we all know that Parvati – and every other person in the train – will be told anyway before we even have reached the King's Cross Station.

Hermione shrugs stiffly. "Be my guest."

Ron seems to not notice as his girlfriend leaves to see her friends, since he's busy gaping at Hermione, his face red with…anger, and hurt.

I feel utterly ashamed of my mistake. I certainly did not make things easier for anyone. I clear my throat, trying to steer the conversation away from the topic, hoping that we could all forget about it. "Hey, mate, you gonna join us?" I ask carefully, but it seems that Ron's still having a staring contest with Hermione.

"Ron?" I ask again.

Ron flinches, and turns to look at me. "No, I'm…I'll go find Lav," He mutters and then leaves the compartment, closing the door behind him as he walks stiffly away.

I close my eyes in embarrassment as I lean forward and bring my hands up to rub my face. "Shit…I'm sorry…" I say, not able to look at Hermione.

She sighs, and I imagine her giving me a reprimanding look because of the swearing. "…It's okay, Harry. It's not like you planned for him to hear that…right?" She asks, tentatively.

I lift my head quickly, and give her an incredulous look. "Of course not!"

"Okay, okay," She says then, in a calming manner. "Then let's just…forget about it. I'm sure Ron will forget about it as well…" She says simply, looking anything but assured by her words.

"Yeah." I mutter, not really believing her either.

The train ride continues more or less in silence, and only when Ginny, Neville, Seamus and Dean join us in our compartment, we are able to let go of the unfortunate incident and enjoy the rest of the ride with our friends.

* * *

**The Burrow, December 22nd 1996**

"You sure you didn't see them together?"

"Yes, I'm sure, like I told you already," I say, and then mutter, "a million times."

"I'm only checking!" Ron says with irritation, obviously hearing my every word. We're at the Burrow's kitchen, helping Mrs. Weasley to prepare dinner by peeling a mountain of sprouts. We've managed to already go through the suspicious encounter between Snape and Malfoy I witnessed at Slughorn's party, and we've moved – again – to what happened between Hermione and McLaggen.

Yesterday, after we arrived here, I talked with Mr. Weasley, and told him that I had been writing with Sirius's brother – not really explaining it further – and that I'd like to meet him, if it wasn't a problem for them. Mrs. Weasley had overheard our conversation and decided that I shouldn't be going alone, as we might as well all go and take the poor man something to eat.

And now we're making dinner for an army to take with us before we go there. Apparently Mrs. Weasley has visited Grimmauld Place a couple of times during the past month, supplying Regulus and Kreacher food, as Lupin has been on a mission somewhere.

"Aaah, George, look at this. They're using knives and everything. Bless them." Fred says with amusement as the twins enter the kitchen.

"I'll be seventeen in two and a bit months' time," Ron says grumpily, "and then I'll be able to do it by magic!"

"But meanwhile," George says as he sits down at the kitchen table and puts his feet up on it, "we can enjoy watching you demonstrate the correct use of a — whoopsadaisy!" He says as he flicks his wand, making the knife slip in Ron's hand and making it cut his thumb.

"You made me do that!" Ron growls at his brother, sucking his cut thumb. "You wait, when I'm seventeen —"

"I'm sure you'll dazzle us all with hitherto unsuspected magical skills," Fred says with a bored voice.

"And speaking of hitherto unsuspected skills, Ronald," George continues, "what is this we hear from Ginny about you and a young lady called — unless our information is faulty — Lavender Brown?"

Ron narrows his eyes at his brothers, his cheeks slightly pink before he turns back to the sink. "Mind your own business."

I try to ignore Ron and his brothers, not really wanting to participate into their bickering.

"What a snappy retort," Fred says simply. "I really don't know how you think of them. No, what we wanted to know was… how did it happen?"

"What d'you mean?" Ron says, turning back to them, looking suspicious.

"Did she have an accident or something?" George says with a slight grin.

Oh no…I have a bad feeling about this…

"What?" Ron asks incredulously.

"Well, how did she sustain such extensive brain damage?" Fred says with a wink.

Ron growls and throws the sprout knife at Fred, who sniggers and turns it into a paper airplane with a lazy flick of his wand.

Unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley has just entered the kitchen to see Ron's knife performance.

"RONALD!" she screams furiously. "Don't you ever let me see you throwing knives again!"

"I won't," Ron says, "let you see," he adds, speaking under his breath as he turns back to the sprout mountain.

Mrs. Weasley is already explaining the twins about who is going to stay in which room during the holidays, since Lupin will most probably stay here from Christmas onward, as the full moon is on Christmas Eve. Fred and George assure their mother that if it will become too uncomfortable, they can always floo over to their apartment for the night.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, December 22nd 1996**

I walk through the green flames, entering the kitchen in Grimmauld Place after Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Ginny and the twins. Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur are still working, all of them joining us for dinner as soon as they get off from work.

Regulus is there, sitting with…Tonks, of all people, at the long kitchen table. The place looks very different from what it was during my last visit. Gone are the stains, the empty liquor bottles, the stacks of newspaper. Even though the same pots and pans hang from the ceiling above, the large wooden table is spotless, as is the rest of the room. It is almost unrecognisable.

And he looks different, somehow. Healthier, brighter. There's a ghost of an amusement on his features, as if he's shared a laughter with Tonks before our arrival. Regulus greets us stiffly, as usual, and his eyes linger at mine for longer than with the others, before he tells us to make ourselves at home.

As Mrs. Weasley busies herself with the stove – much to Kreacher's apparent annoyance – and tells the rest of us to go upstairs as she finishes with dinner, we leave her be and follow Regulus and Tonks towards the second landing, where we enter the library.

After a while of awkward small talk, the twins inform they'll go visit their old bedroom on the third floor, hinting that they might've actually left something in there. Ron, Ginny and I exchange a suspicious look, but say nothing. Who knows what they're up to…

Ron suggests a wizarding chess game after another silence, and none of us seem really enthusiastic about that, since at least Ginny and I know how brilliant Ron's at it.

"I actually was wondering, that…um…" I say and glance at Regulus.

His brows twitch upwards. "Yes?"

I scratch my neck, feeling anxious. "If it's okay for me to visit Sirius's room?"

Regulus seems surprised, but nods. "Of course. Do you want me to…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," I quickly say, grateful that Ron has managed to talk Ginny into that chess game after all, and thus have their attention focused elsewhere.

Although, as Regulus and I stand up and walk towards the library doors, I notice Tonks's stare following us, a knowing smirk on her features.

We make our way upstairs, both of us silent, only our steps echoing in the staircase. We stop on the third floor to listen to the noise carrying out from the guest room Fred and George are occupying, and when all we can hear is laughter and discussion – and not, well, explosions – we continue upstairs to the fourth and topmost landing.

There're only two doors in here, and as I step into Sirius's room after Regulus, I realise I've never been here before. Regulus waves his wand to light the lamp on the bedside table and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The room itself is spacious with dark wood flooring and a large, four-poster bed with red hangings and a golden duvet, placed almost in the middle of the room. On the left side of the room there's a small reading nook next to a pair of tall windows, framed by red and golden curtains, with a comfortable looking armchair in front of a large bookshelf. On the right side of the room, next to what I presume is a bathroom door, there's a large desk against one wall and a wide wooden wardrobe against another. But what is the most interesting part in the room, besides being decorated with a vibrant red and gold theme, the entire wall behind the writing desk is filled with different kinds of posters and pictures, some of them moving and some not.

I take a couple of steps closer to see the moving pictures, and instantly recognise a large, framed photograph of my father and Sirius, grinning widely at the camera, their arms thrown over each other's shoulders. I smile at the two young men in their school robes, old enough to be in their last years at Hogwarts.

There's another, smaller picture, also from Hogwarts, where Sirius is surrounded by half a dozen girls who fawn over him, batting their eyelashes while Sirius winks at couple of the girls, biting his lip and looking smug as hell. I huff at the picture and shake my head in amusement.

"Brother sure liked the attention back then…" Regulus mutters wryly, and only then I remember he is in the room with me. Regulus's gaze flickers to another picture, and he becomes solemn. I follow his line of sight, and see a picture of the brothers, taken obviously after Sirius escaped from Azkaban and after Regulus came into this time. They are at Grimmauld Place, in the drawing room, leaning against a sturdy, but intricately detailed dresser, neither of them looking at the camera as they're busy laughing at something, perhaps something one of them had said.

I can't help but smile at the picture. Both of them look so carefree…and happy.

"That was my birthday, actually," Regulus explains as I examine the details of the picture. Both men are wearing dress robes. "Last May," he continues quietly.

I glance at him, suddenly curious. "Oh?"

Regulus's lips twitch upwards. "Yeah, my brother insisted to organise a ball in my honour, even if it was just the two of us. Though he managed to get some of the Order members to pop by as well…" He says pensively.

I clear my throat. "That explains the dress robes," I say lightly.

Regulus's lets out a small chuckle. "Yeah. Fun night. At least after brother stopped dragging me to dance with him," he says, his smile fading as a small frown takes place between his brows.

And I know where his thoughts are. It's not exactly easy to look at the picture, to see my godfather so joyful, and not think about the fact that he died only a month after it was taken.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out, turning to look at him, away from the photograph.

Regulus arches a brow at me. "I was in the impression that it was supposed to go the other way around," he says dryly.

I give him a helpless shrug. "Still am. Sorry." And it's the truth. I'm sorry he lost his brother. I'm sorry I lost my godfather. I'm sorry for playing a part in what happened to him, even if it was Voldemort's doing. Even if it was Bellatrix who ultimately killed him.

Regulus sighs, and then fixes a hard look at me, making my pulse speed momentarily. "Look. Potter. I…I know you're not to blame for this, for what happened to my brother. You're not the reason Sirius is gone. I know that. And I apologise if I made you believe so. I apologise that I…that I hurt you," He says steadily, and then swallows. My gaze flickers briefly at his bobbing throat as I process his words.

"I…thanks." I manage to say, my throat constricting as I move my gaze back to his eyes. I can feel my shoulders sagging slightly, as if a heavy lift has been taken away.

He studies my features, an inscrutable look in his eyes before he turns his attention to the writing desk, to a stack of small photographs piled neatly on the table.

"They're the only ones that came off." He says, and after seeing my puzzled look, he continues, "from the wall." He points at the wall behind the desk, and only then I notice small empty spots in the midst of all the posters and larger photographs.

"Sirius enjoyed annoying our mother, putting most of these up with Permanent Sticking Charms, and other spells, so thoroughly that he himself was unable to take them off afterwards," He says with a small smirk playing on his lips, as he glances at some of the posters featuring Muggle bands, motorcycles and…bikini-clad girls.

A small laugh escapes from my throat. "Yeah, seems like he had a lot of nerve," I say and stare at a poster where a bikini-clad girl leans against a motorcycle, staring coyly at the camera.

Regulus clears his throat. "You can take them," he says and gestures to the stack of photographs.

"Oh. You sure…?" I ask, my hand moving towards them hesitantly.

"I am," he says curtly. His expression then turns into a wry one. "And, well, seeing that you own everything in this house…" he says, a sly smile curving his lips.

I roll my eyes at him. "You know it's not like that…" I grumble dryly, and Regulus huffs a laughter, backing away to lean against the bed post.

I take the photographs and follow Regulus, and take a seat on the bed, where I spread them, wanting to see as many as I can in one view.

A surge of emotion stills me, numbs me. There are so many of them. So many with my mum, dad, Sirius, Lupin…even Pettigrew looks young and innocent, untroubled in the pictures where he's included. There's one where my parents kiss and Sirius stalks behind them, trying to startle them, but they end up attacking Sirius, bringing him down to the living room floor in, what I assume is, Godric's Hollow.

There's one where the Marauders are outside, playing some sort of piggyback game by themselves, in what looks like the middle of an orchard. Similar to what the Weasleys have, but still different. I wonder where the picture has been taken.

There's dad and Sirius again, in their Quidditch gear, their brooms tossed over their shoulders, hairs windswept as they beam at the camera. I wish I'd seen them play…

"I'll be downstairs…" Regulus says quietly, and I give him an absent nod, absorbed in staring at the pictures in front of me.

A while – twenty, maybe thirty minutes later, I pocket the pictures, opting to continue looking at them later.

As I walk downstairs, a delicious whiff of Mrs. Weasley's stew carries to the stairway, and instead of going back to the library, I decide to return to the kitchen, my stomach rumbling agreeably. I walk past the third floor where I still hear Fred and George chattering, past the second floor where I assume Tonks, Ron and Ginny are still, engaged into the chess match, and then, on the first floor, as I'm about to walk past the drawing room, I stop in my tracks. The door's open, and Regulus is there, crouched in front of the Black family tapestry, his fingers brushing the textile.

I frown and enter the room, closing the door behind me. "Hey." I say quietly, and walk to him.

Regulus gives me a conflicted glance before he looks away, dropping his hands to his sides as he straightens up.

"What's –" I manage to say, my words stopping in my throat when I see where his fingers had been.

Under Sirius's scorched name, in the tapestry, there's his date of birth, and under that, there is – there  _should be_ – his death date. But the spot is empty.

"Harry," Regulus says quietly, and I can't even focus on how him calling me by my first name makes my stomach jolt, as words merely tumble out of my mouth.

"What is this? What are you…Is this you? Wh – I mean, shouldn't there be –" I stammer, not really knowing how to continue. What the hell is going on? Why isn't Sirius's death date there? He is dead. I saw him die.

Regulus lets out a weary sigh. "Listen. I don't know if I should be telling you this, since nobody else believes me, but –"

"You're saying he's not dead?" I ask sharply, interrupting him, a sliver of hope running through me, quashed by desperation and disbelief.

Regulus lets out a small wince, his eyes trailing over the room before returning back to me.

"Yes." He says quietly, giving me a challenging look.

But this is – what – is not – I mean, this is nothing to be argued with…Sirius died. He's gone. I was there.

Whatever the hell Regulus thinks, is…wrong.

"You're…" I say, and swallow hard, having a hard time to gather my thoughts. "You're..."  _Wrong_  – I want to say, or  _in denial,_  but I…can't. I give him a long look before I speak, quietly and very deliberately.

"Prove it."

Regulus appears to be startled by my words, and he frowns faintly before he speaks.

"The last words my brother said to you, was ordering you to get out, take the prophecy, grab your friend Neville, and run," he says slowly. "Then he started duelling our cousin."

A cold shiver runs up my spine, because I remember the words, I remember how he looked at me, with fear and with a fierce protectiveness. I remember every word. And somehow, Regulus knows them too. Of course, it is possible that some of the others at the Ministry might've heard Sirius, but I doubt it. There was too much of noise coming from everywhere, and no one near us at that moment, the moment before he ran to duel Bellatrix.

"I-I…" I say, my voice faltering, an overwhelming feeling taking over. "…How would know that?" I whisper, gaping at him in shock.

Regulus's brows knit together in a deep frown as a pained look flashes in his eyes. "I've seen him. At first, I thought they were dreams, but they're not. Not after I saw this," He says and looks at the tapestry, at the empty spot.

"I've talked with him. About a lot of things," He continues calmly, studying my reaction.

I can only stare ahead with a stoical look. How can this be possible? I try to wrap my head around the thought as Regulus proceeds to explain to me how he thinks his brother is being trapped, not yet moved on, but not with the living anymore. That he's struggling, trying to stay there, trying not to go to the voices that are calling for him. That there has to be some studies about the Death Chamber in the Ministry, that there has to be a way for him to come back.

"You're not saying anything." Regulus says after a short silence.

I rub the bridge of my nose, feeling stunned, speechless. What should I say to all of that? I begin to shake my head in bewilderment, while Regulus's posture stiffens, his expression turning blank.

"Hey, I don't –" I try to explain, trying to tell him to give me some time to think about this, but the door opens, and yet again someone interrupts us.

"Oh, Harry, Regulus…dinner's ready." Mrs. Weasley informs kindly and then turns to walk back downstairs.

Regulus gives me one last expressionless look before he swiftly turns and walks towards the kitchen.

I could have handled this better. Bloody hell.

* * *

**The Burrow, December 26th 1996**

"Really, Molly. You are too kind," Lupin says for what feels like the hundredth time.

I was invited to the Weasley residence for late Christmas dinner. A dinner, that usually takes place on Christmas day, but because of Lupin's…illness, it was decided to be kept later. And it's not that I mind, since, well, I didn't have any plans for the holidays to begin with.

As I glance around the large table in the crammed kitchen, I amuse myself with the thought what my brother would say to me if he saw me right now. What he'd think if he saw me sitting amongst these people, not really bothered by my surroundings in a way I would have been in the past – although, I have to say the place seemed a bit odd at first – with Mrs. Weasley's handmade Christmas jumper on top of my pressed shirt, a clothing which apparently everyone here wears during the Holiday.

I sit between Ms. Weasley and Potter, opposite to Ms. Delacour, who occasionally flashes a wide sweet smile at our direction, making the young woman beside me bristle with irritation, while Potter and his friend Weasley struggle to keep their faces from colouring as they clear their throats loudly. A part-Veela, that goes without saying **.**

We haven't traded many words with Potter, and it is obvious he has been avoiding my gaze since I arrived here. I know I shouldn't have said anything to him. I should've lied. I should've told him that the tapestry was merely malfunctioning, that it was only doing so because my brother was disowned. Anything would've been better than the truth, it seems.

It is not difficult to keep the feelings of irritation and disappointment to myself. I really wasn't counting on him to believe me. No one has. Potter, on the other hand, has not mastered the art of shutting his emotions away, if the confusion and frustration radiating from him have anything to go with.

I'm relieved that no one else has taken interest in his odd and sullen behaviour, as everyone is busy focusing on Lupin's and my cousin's inaudible and tense interaction, in which my cousin sends the poor man several glares, while Lupin, sitting opposite to her, tries his best to ignore them.

After dinner, everyone retreats to the brightly decorated living room, to listen to the wireless, to play Exploding Snap, and overall relax. My cousin bids me and everyone else her goodbyes, as she is due to a night shift at the Hogsmeade village. As soon as she's gone, Lupin retreats to stand in front of the fireplace, a stricken look in his eyes as he stares at the dancing flames.

At first, I do not really pay attention to anyone as I sit in the corner on one of the two large sofas, contemplating the right moment to take my leave, but as Mr. Weasley and Potter – situated in the armchairs close to me – start discussing something regarding the Malfoy Manor, an inspection, or so it seems, my interest is piqued.

"I checked, Harry," Mr. Weasley says with a low voice. "I went and searched the Malfoys' house. There was nothing, either broken or whole, that shouldn't have been there."

"Yeah, I know, I saw in the Prophet that you'd looked…but there's actually more to it," Potter says quietly.

He then proceeds to explain something that is even more interesting. Something about overhearing Severus offering his help to the Malfoy boy, about making an Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa.

"Has it occurred to you, Harry," Mr. Weasley says kindly, "that Snape was simply pretending — ?"

"Pretending to offer help, so that he could find out what Malfoy's up to?" Potter says quickly, a tense tone in his voice. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that. But how do we know?"

"It isn't our business to know," Lupin says suddenly, turning away from the fireplace and facing Potter and Mr. Weasley. He glances at me, knowing that I've been listening to the conversation as well. "It's Dumbledore's business. Dumbledore trusts Severus, and that ought to be good enough for all of us."

"But," Potter says, seeming hesitant. "Just say — just say Dumbledore's wrong about Snape —"

"People have said it, many times. It comes down to whether or not you trust Dumbledore's judgment. I do; therefore, I trust Severus." Lupin says simply.

"But Dumbledore can make mistakes," Potter argues. "He says it himself. And you" — he glances at me before fixing a firm look at Lupin — "do you honestly like Snape?"

"I neither like nor dislike Severus," Lupin says simply. "No, Harry, I am speaking the truth," he adds to Potter's sceptical expression. "We shall never be bosom friends, perhaps; after all that happened between James and Sirius and Severus, there is too much bitterness there. But I do not forget that during the year I taught at Hogwarts, Severus made the Wolfsbane Potion for me every month, made it perfectly, so that I did not have to suffer as I usually do at the full moon."

I lift my brows to that bit of information, as it doesn't sound anything the Severus I knew would do from the kindness of his heart. And the part about Severus making an Unbreakable Vow just seems…unbelievable. Something I will certainly bring up the next time I meet him. But even if the Vow's probably just what they'd said, a way to find out what the Malfoy kid is up to, there's no doubt that the man is scheming something.

The two of them continue arguing about Severus for a while, until Mr. Weasley suggests a nightcap, leaping to his feet to prepare eggnog.

As Potter and Lupin start to talk about Lupin's mission, and then about his youth and how he became a werewolf, I decide that that is my cue to leave and head back home after thanking my hosts.

* * *

I slip out from the kitchen door moments after Regulus, hoping to catch him before he reaches over the wards where he can disapparate. But he's there, standing on the porch, his back against the house, gazing up at the dark and starry sky. I suddenly feel goose bumps erupt up my spine that have nothing to do with the cold winter air.

"Hey," I say as he turns towards me from the sound of the door. "You're leaving already?" I continue, feeling uncertain. He hasn't as much as glanced at me during the whole night. And it's not like I've been actively trying to start a conversation with him, but it's just…it's been rather difficult, being around him after what he told me.

He studies me with an unreadable look, his hands in the pockets of his pressed trousers, the silver embroidered dark green Christmas jumper Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him making a bizarre contrast to his usually smart appearance. "Yes," He says quietly.

I know I came to see him for a reason. I know there's something I want to discuss with him. Something I need to say to him, but I'm at a loss of words.

Regulus clears his throat after a minute's silence. "What did Scrimgeour want from you? …I heard he came by earlier?" He asks with a hint of curiosity in his voice.

I lift my brows with a mild surprise, feeling relieved and disappointed at the same time. I take a step towards him, mirroring his stance and push my hands in the pockets of my jeans – it's not exactly warm outside, even with the warming charms Fred and George set up into the garden before dinner.

"Er…Yeah, he did," I say with a sigh. "Just what you'd expect, I reckon…Asking me to be the Ministry's mascot, to pretend they're winning the war against Voldemort," I say, unable to stop the bitterness seeping into my voice.

Regulus still flinches from the name, even though he's heard it at least once every time I've been in his company. He lifts a hand and threads it through his hair, and only now I notice it has grown longer since the last time I've taken a good look at him. He resembles so much of his brother, that it nearly hurts.

"I suppose you turned him down, then?" He asks as his eyes flicker over my face, watching my expression carefully.

I give him a shrug and a small smirk. "Don't see there could've been any other way…"

He nods slowly, still staring at me with a contemplative look, almost as if forgetting himself. I rub my neck as I start to feel a little too self-conscious under his gaze, and then he suddenly looks away, frowning at the frozen rose bushes at the end of the porch.

"I was actually just leaving," he says with an undecipherable voice, looking back to the house behind us. "Needed a bit of fresh air before heading back home," He continues and with a nod, he walks past me towards the apparition point.

I'm fighting an inside battle, the one I've been having since Sunday, when he told me about Sirius and what he'd said. I want to believe him. Even if it sounds mad. Even if it's impossible.

If there's even a small chance to get Sirius back, I know I'll do anything.

"Wait."

Regulus turns around with an inquisitive look on his face, instead of an annoyed one, which I had been expecting. "Yes?" He asks quietly, staying in place.

I quickly make the couple of steps to him and take a deep breath before speaking. "What you said about…about Sirius," I start awkwardly.

His expression remains neutral as he speaks, but I can hear anticipation in his voice. "What about it?"

"I'm…I…" I mutter and lick my lips, anxious to say it aloud, since that'll make it final. "I believe you. I want to believe you. That – that he's not gone. That Sirius's not gone." I say finally and look at him intently.

I've had time to think this through. What Regulus said to me, my godfather's last words…there's no way anyone but me or Sirius could've recited them, word for word. And then there's the tapestry. And the missing body. It's just…It has to be true. I need it to be true. I need him back. I need him so much it hurts.

Something flickers in Regulus's eyes, relief, perhaps…or fear, maybe. Either way, he looks more open he has in a long time, his brow furrowing slightly as he swallows hard.

"I'm glad." He breathes after a short silence, not at all the withdrawn and imperious man he usually is around me and others. He looks younger like this, more vulnerable.

The silence between us stretches, and deep down, I don't want it to end. Because I don't want him to leave. Regulus too seems uncertain, like he's indecisive about something.

"I would like to – "

" – Are you sure you don't want to – "

We both start at the same time, and I let out a small chuckle as the corners of his lips turn upwards. I lift my brows expectantly, signalling for him to speak first.

His eyes run over my face, assessing, before he speaks. "I would like to request a meeting with you," he says tensely.

I give him an amused look. "A what?" I say, unable to stop the grin spreading. Is he asking me to stop by at Grimmauld?

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean," He grumbles and then frowns, looking unsure. "Perhaps we could have dinner…"

As I feel my eyebrows lifting with surprise, he quickly continues, "To discuss my brother's circumstances, of course."

"Oh!" I manage to say between feeling stunned and gleeful and, well, disappointed. "Of course," I tell him, the grin persistent on my lips when he actually blushes.

"You can stop beaming like a loon, Potter," he says tightly, looking flustered.

I let out nervous chuckle. "Sorry, I…it just sounded a bit different in my head, I guess…" I say, grimacing inwardly at my wayward thoughts.

He arches a brow at me, suddenly looking sombre. There's an intense silence, as we both stare at each other, trying to read the other.

"…And what if it was? Different, I mean." He says finally, his voice quiet and careful.

My throat feels tight all of a sudden. Are we talking about the same thing here?

"Um...I, um…" I stammer, feeling the colour rising upwards from my neck.

A small frown appears between his brows. "Look, Potter – " he starts with a frustrated look.

"Yeah, I think I'd like that," I say quickly, not wanting him to take his words back.

Regulus's eyes widen somewhat. "Oh." He says, seeming too stunned to say anything else.

"Yeah." I say, feeling the need to fill the awkward silence.

Regulus clears his throat. "That's…good. I think," he says, looking still bewildered even though his lips curve up in a small smile.

I can't stop myself from mirroring his expression. "So…um…what about tomorrow?" I ask, struggling to keep the eagerness and nervousness seeping into my voice.

He notices though.

Regulus takes a step towards me, standing now so close that I could touch him if I extended my arm. Even thinking about it makes my heart beating faster. I release a shaky breath and let my gaze trail up his frame, until I meet his darkened eyes.

He gives me an almost imperceptible nod, his eyes dropping down to my lips for a long moment. "Tomorrow's good," he says quietly.

The anticipation is killing me. The mere thought of him leaning closer to me – not downwards since I'm now almost as tall as he is, which is strange, because it's so different from what it was almost a year before – makes me think all kinds of thoughts. Makes me feel curious, excited…itching…craving.

"What were you going to say? Earlier?" He asks, his voice so soft and so low it makes my head spin.

It takes me a moment before I understand what he is asking. "Um…I was…just going to ask if you'd like to go back inside to talk," I say, feeling out of breath.

Regulus gives me a small smile. "Tomorrow?" He asks instead, his eyes moving across my face, studying me.

I swallow down the disappointment and frustration I know have everything to do with him leaving and respond to his smile. "Tomorrow."

Regulus nods me goodbye and squeezes my arm lightly before he turns and walks towards the apparition point.

I stare at his retreating back until he vanishes into the darkness. Only after I hear the faint pop of disapparation, I release a loud puff of breath that changes into a quiet laughter.

I'm grinning all the way back to the house. Sirius is alive. And Regulus is…well, he's something, isn't he.

Definitely an interesting Christmas.


	19. The Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to be way ahead of my posting schedule! Promise me you won't get used to this... ;)

**Chapter 19: The Way**

**The Burrow, December 27th 1996**

I wake up, bleary eyed, after tossing and turning for the better part of the night. There were just too many thoughts circling in my head. I must've been awake until two or three in the morning, listening to Ron's faint snoring while I went through the details of last night's discussion with Regulus over and over again.

I spent a large amount of time wondering and worrying over Sirius, how alone he must be there, how afraid he probably is, stuck in the chamber, only voices keeping him company. I know it would be the last thing Sirius will admit to his brother, not wanting to make him more anxious or upset than he already is. And he is, I could see it in his eyes. But there was also hope, and there was relief when I said I believed him. When Regulus realised that he wasn't alone in this.

There's a loud crash in the staircase and Mrs. Weasley's loud voice, scolding the twins. Ron groans loudly in his bed, pulling the pillow from under his head on top of it, trying to muffle the sounds coming from outside of the room.

I toss my pillow towards him. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," I quip as I roll out of bed and throw a shirt over my head before propping my glasses against the bridge of my nose. "I can smell the breakfast, mate," I continue and walk towards the door as Ron turns on his side, grumbling under his breath.

I leave my friend be and make my way downstairs towards the kitchen, meeting Ginny on the first floor.

"Hey, Harry," She says between a yawn, looking as tired as I feel. "Didn't sleep well, huh?" She asks after giving me a quick glance before we descend the last steps to the hallway.

I shrug. "Well, you know. You brother snores," I say lightly, and she snorts.

"Like a freight train, I know," She says with a smirk. We enter the kitchen and find Fred and George there with their mother, who's in the process of giving her sons an earful. Apparently, the twins had left something in their room that had caused a mild explosion as Mrs. Weasley tried to enter their room to pick up dirty laundry.

Fred winks to us as George continues to soothe their greatly annoyed mother. "Mum, we know Fred and I were inconsiderate. And once again, we apologise," He says with a remorseful smile, his hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. "And, you know, if there's anything,  _anything_ , we can do to make it up to you, just say the word," He continues, and for a moment, I think he might be overselling it, but then Mrs. Weasley's expression actually softens.

"Alright, boys…" She says with a warm smile as she gazes at her sons, who both are dressed impeccably into identical purple set of robes, ready for a day in the office. "Oh, you boys look so handsome!"

Both Fred and George give their mother an identical charming smile. Merlin they're good.

"Come on, let me wrap you a lunch to go with," She continues and turns to pull food from the cabinets.

Ginny rolls her eyes as she takes a seat at the table and proceeds to load her plate from the lavish breakfast selection. I follow her example and sit opposite to her, next to Fred, who is finishing emptying his plate.

"And maybe there's still that cake from last night…?" Fred asks innocently, while Ginny narrows her eyes at her brother.

"You better not take the rest of it," She mutters, while Fred and George chuckle under their breaths.

Molly ends up giving them both hefty pieces of last night's chocolate cake, while Ginny continues to look sour. The twins say their goodbyes and before they leave, Fred turns to me.

"The  _sleeping beauty_  still rolling around in his bed?" He asks slyly, and I can't help but wonder was that a coincidence or do they have more of those Extendable Ears lying around in here…?

Making a mental note of the possibility, I give him a light shrug. "Yeah, probably."

Fred and George exchange a mischievous grin before they leave the kitchen. Five minutes later Ron yells and swears loudly as he thumps down the stairs, and before he's reached the ground floor, the last of the green flames from the fireplace have vanished, along with the twins.

"THOSE – BLOODY – "

"Ronald," Mrs. Weasley warns from behind the stove. Ron barges into the kitchen, dripping wet, his hair purple, for some reason, and several inches longer, plastered to his cheeks and reaching easily to his shoulders. Both Ginny and I snort loudly towards our plates, trying not to choke on what we eat.

" – WANKERS!"

"Shame on you, Ronald Weasley!" Molly says sharply and turns to look at her son, and I have to give it to her, she doesn't even flinch. Her mouth stays in a firm line, while I have to bite my lip hard as I try not to laugh, and Ginny can't even do that, as a loud snigger escapes from her.

Ron scowls at us and then he turns on his heels and marches back upstairs.

Mrs. Weasley huffs, and after a short while, she joins us at the table.

"Mum, are we going to stop by at Diagon any time soon? Preferably before Hogwarts? I need a new broom polish and some Owl treats for Arnold," Ginny says after taking a long sip of tea.

I give her a puzzled look. "Isn't Arnold a Pygmy Puff? I mean, can you feed them Owl treats?" I try to rack my brain to remember what was said about those little creatures in the Care of Magical Creatures, but as I draw a blank, I reckon that the creatures were probably not even mentioned. Which really isn't that surprising, knowing Hagrid and his Creatures of choice.

Ginny shrugs. "Yeah, they'll eat almost anything, but Arnold seems to have taken a liking to Owl treats specifically."

"Well, I need to discuss with your father first," Mrs. Weasley says to Ginny, looking hesitant. "I do not think it is safe enough for us to go there without him, or at least…" Her voice trails off as her eyes flicker to me.

"I don't have to go," I say quickly. "I can stay here, really," I continue, trying to give her a reassuring smile. It's not that I don't want to go, but the Weasleys have done and sacrificed already enough for me. I wouldn't want to inconvenience them any further.

"Oh, nonsense, Harry. Of course you can come, dear," She says softly. "I'll ask Arthur if we can go today. He said he'd be only stopping at the office, and would come back before lunch."

Then I remember that didn't actually say anything to the Weasleys about my plans to meet Regulus today. Woops.

"Oh…actually, er – I've, um, agreed to meet Regulus today," I say hastily, trying not to stumble in my words. Ginny's already looking at me with a curious expression.

Mrs. Weasley lifts her brows in surprise. "Oh. Well, I suppose we could all go then," She says, looking thoughtful.

"No! I mean…It's okay. I'd rather go alone, if that's fine for you?" I say, and force a stricken look on my face. "He…um…promised I could look over more Sirius's stuff today…" I continue, hoping they'd get the message.

Which they do.

Ginny and Mrs. Weasley share a sympathetic look, before Mrs. Weasley speaks. "Of course, dear," she says kindly, a sad glint in her eyes. "What time are you meeting him?"

Shit. Why didn't we talk anything about time? "Um…after breakfast, I suppose," I say tensely and chew the inside of my cheek. Is he even awake at this hour? It's nearly ten, but I know Ron would've been asleep longer than this if his brothers would've let him. And if Regulus is awake, would he expect me to come later?

"Alright, dear. You should go and get ready then. And come back for dinner, would you? Regulus is of course welcome to join us," Mrs. Weasley says as she flicks her wand to send our empty plates towards the sink.

"Yeah, I…okay." I say awkwardly and give them both a tight smile before standing up and walking swiftly upstairs, hoping that Ron's not going to be too bothered by my plans.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, December 27th 1996**

I stumble into the kitchen in Grimmauld Place twenty minutes later, grimacing as I imagine how annoyed Regulus will be if I'm waking him up.

He's not sleeping. He's there, sitting at the table, reading the morning paper and drinking tea. He looks at me only after a couple of seconds have passed, as if first finishing a sentence he was reading.

"Potter. I was wondering when you would show up," He says, the left corner of his mouth tugging up. "Come on, have a seat," he gestures opposite to him.

"Hey. Yeah. Sorry, I didn't know what time I was expected…" I mutter and sit down at the table.

"Tea?" He asks politely, summoning a cup and a saucer from the cupboard that stop in front of me, hovering slightly in the air.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," I say and give him a small smile, thankful to have something to do with my hands.

He flicks his wand again to fill my cup and places it on the table, his scrutinising eyes never leaving mine. Shit…memories from last night come crashing into the forefront of my mind, and it is a struggle to keep my breathing steady and my cheeks from blushing.

Nothing goes by him, it seems, as his lips curve into a knowing smile.

"Sleep well?" He asks with a sly glint in his eyes as I take a sip from the cup, and manage to get it in the wrong pipe.

Coughing, I place the cup back on the table, while Regulus lets out a small chuckle.

I clear my throat. "Not really. Too many things on my mind, for some reason…" I say pointedly.

He gives me a nod. "Yeah, same here."

After a short silence, I remember there were a couple of things I wanted to talk to him about, in addition to the reason I came here.

"I never thanked you," I blurt out, and as his brows twitch slightly in confusion, I quickly continue, "For the photographs. So…thank you. It means a lot, you know…" I say earnestly, not really able to say more since I'm not so good with words. I hope he will get the point though.

His brows lift up a bit in surprise, and he licks his lips thoughtfully. I'm forcing my gaze to stay at his eyes.

"Yeah, I figured…" He says, looking uncertain as he looks briefly away.

"Oh?"

He looks at me, a wistful look in his eyes, the look he seems to have when he's thinking about his brother.

"Sirius…" He says with a sigh. "He told me about your parents, what happened to them. And, well, he told me about the people you live with when you're not in school, how they don't even speak about your parents. And how miserable it must be for you…"

Wow. I wasn't expecting that. Sirius had obviously been worrying over me, even though I did wonder, the whole fifth year…Why couldn't I live with him? This is the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. I know there is ancient magic protecting me at the Dursleys, but still, this place is the safest place after that, I'd reckon.

Regulus seems to understand my train of thought, as he studies my expression before continuing. "He wanted to have you here, living with him. At times, it was the only thing he spoke of," He finishes with a wry smile.

I swallow hard. God, I cannot even think about it, what it would've been like. I shake the thoughts away and take a deep breath.

"I wanted to ask about the house…" I say carefully, changing the subject.

Regulus gives me an inscrutable look. "What of it?"

My fingers toy with the cup as I contemplate how to approach the subject. "Um…it feels…wrong. To own Sirius's house. Your house," I say, chewing the corner of my mouth as I try to gauge his reaction.

Regulus shakes his head. "There's nothing to do about it. At least not until…until my brother's back," he says, the last words coming out more tensely.

I nod slowly, still feeling bothered by the fact that I own this house, and a House Elf, while Regulus is the one who lives here, whose home this place is. Regulus is Kreacher's master, not me.

"Look, Potter. I don't care. I assume you'll continue to let me stay here, and let the Order use the place for their meetings – "

"Of course I will!" I hastily say, horrified by the possibility that he might have had any doubts about the assumption.

Regulus smirks at me. "All is well, then." He says simply and stands up. "Will you join me in the library?" He asks, his voice softer now.

My throat suddenly feels too dry to form words, so I give him a curt not instead and stand up hastily and follow him upstairs.

* * *

We walk into the seating area in the library, and as soon as we've sat down next to each other on the couch, Potter speaks.

"Tell me everything," he says, and with an apologetic look, he adds, "Again."

I give him a wry smile and nod slowly, contemplating where to start. Contemplating how much should I tell him. How much I want to reveal to him.

"It started after the Ministry. I was…not in a good place back then," I start, and try to shrug the uneasiness I start to feel as I recall last summer.

"You were…drinking?" Potter asks quietly, a searching look in his eyes.

I give him another nod. I wasn't actually expecting him to not know. "Yeah. The first time, after Sirius…" I say and wince. "…I got wasted. I wanted to forget. I wanted to feel nothing. Because I had nothing," I say, my voice rough, and I can't look at him anymore, I can't see the pity in his eyes and talk about this at the same time.

"Shit…" Potter mutters, but stays still, doesn't say anything else as he waits for me to continue.

I swallow hard and focus on what happened after that. "I saw him then. Sirius…In the Death Chamber in the Ministry. I was there with him, and we could talk through the archway," I say, my voice steadier now.

"At first I thought I was dreaming. After I woke up, with the worst hangover in the century, I went to see the tapestry. I don't know, I must've felt there was something different. And there was. The date of his death, flickering. Disappearing. And I knew just then, that I wasn't dreaming," I continue and move my gaze back to him.

Potter's looking at me with a mix of wonder and pain in his eyes, eyes that are bright with tears.

I curse inwardly and look away again, swallowing down the feelings of grief and loss. But then his hand curls over mine, giving comfort, distracting me from the sullen thoughts.

Potter clears his throat. "What happened then?" He whispers.

I take a deep breath before I continue, my eyes fixated on the coffee table. "I kept drinking. And we kept meeting. Sometimes we'd meet when I was sober, but then everything was always blurrier and fleeting. He told me that even though he's alone in there, there are voices, voices that are calling for him, urging him to move on…"

Potter's hand twitches briefly on top of mine.

"He told me about the fight in the Ministry. He told me about what he said to you. And, well, he told me to get my head out of my arse and talk to you," I say and give him a dry smirk.

The corners of Potter's lips curve momentarily upwards, but then he looks thoughtful. I have a faint idea of what is going on in his head.

I sigh wearily. "It was more of a pride matter, than anything else, really. I knew what I said to you was impulsive and unreasonable. I knew as soon as I'd said the words."

"Don't worry about it," Potter says quickly, his thoughtful expression clearing as he waves a hand in dismissal. "So…do you still see him?" He asks curiously.

I shrug. "Not as frequently as I did when I was cracking a bottle."

"So you stopped?" Potter asks tentatively.

"Didn't really have a choice. Lupin cut my supply and even without him meddling in my business, it wasn't so much fun in the end when my brother would only give me shit about my lifestyle," I say dryly.

Potter lets out a light snort. "Well, I'm with them on that one," He mutters quietly.

After a short silence, I continue. "I started to research the place, tried to find even a bit of information about it, but there really isn't anything. Even Dumbledore told me that literature regarding the Death Chamber might not even exist. The only people who have any knowledge about the place are the ones who work there and study it. The Unspeakables."

Potter lets out a huff of breath. "Dumbledore knows Sirius is trapped in there?" He asks with confusion and irritation written all over his face.

My eyes move over his features and he must see the resign in my eyes as he scoffs. "He didn't believe you?"

I hum in agreement. "Well, neither did Lupin. And I admit that the subject might be a bit too unbelievable, especially when coming from a man who's been on a bender for the past several months. I mean, you probably would have been the same, had I not found a way to prove it to you." I say simply, and Potter gapes at me.

"I…I dunno what to say…" Potter says, looking disturbed.

I shake my head slowly. "You don't have to say anything."

Potter looks at me with those troubled, saddened eyes, and all I want is to make him smile again.

"I'm sorry…I'm sorry I didn't believe you at first. I know it took some time to get my head wrapped around the thought, but you don't have to worry. I'm not backing out on this," he says determinedly, his fingers entwining slowly with mine, making my stomach jolt with joy and anxiety in equal measure.

"I know," I say thickly, not trusting long sentences anymore. "Thanks," I add, fighting the urge to stare at our joined hands.

We both jump slightly as Kreacher apparates with a loud crack to announce that lunch is ready, and asks where do we want to have it served.

"Here's fine," I say roughly, quickly extracting my hand from Potter's grip and moving to sit closer to the edge of the couch as Kreacher flicks its fingers and arranges our lunch on the coffee table.

Potter too moves closer to the table, and we start to eat in silence.

After lunch, Potter asks if we can go to Sirius's room again, and once we get there, we spend a long time in silence, staring at my brother's photographs and posters, and only after a small hesitance, go over his belongings.

I know brother would kill me if he knew that I was rifling through his bedside table, chuckling at the various items and magazines he keeps there.

But it is Potter who finds the jackpot.

"Hey, look at this." Potter says distractedly, his focus on a photograph he has fished out from the bottom of Sirius's writing desk drawer. He walks to me and hands me the picture, an inscrutable look in his eyes.

It's a picture of my parents, and…baby Sirius. Mother's holding him in her arms, and father's arm is curled protectively over her shoulders, his other hand playing with Sirius's foot.

I don't know when the picture was taken, but it must have been before I was born. And I'm not really surprised that he'd kept it, even after everything. This is probably how my brother wants to remember them. Mother actually smiles at the camera, and father at Sirius.

They look so different, so happy. They look like a family, and I suppose they really were a family. Until they weren't.

I thread my fingers through my hair as I tear my eyes from the picture. "Let's…let's put it back," I say as I hold the photograph out for him, my voice a bit tighter than I thought it would be.

Potter proceeds to put it where he found it, and as he straightens up and turns to me, he looks uncertain.

"Can you, um…can you tell him something? From me?" He asks, and I know he means my brother.

"Yeah, sure," I say and I back away to sit down on Sirius's bed.

Potter chews the inside of his cheek in thought until he speaks, still standing next to the writing desk.

"Tell him…that I miss him," he says quietly. "And that I'll be alright. Tell him that his brother's not alone anymore. That we'll get him out, together, even if it takes time, even if it'll be hard. We'll get him out," He says and fixes me an intense look.

I let out a stunned puff of breath, all kinds of fucking emotions rising up inside me. "Fuck. You just aim straight and throw true, huh?" I ask incredulously, and Potter huffs a laughter before he becomes sombre.

"Tell him?" He insists.

I roll my eyes exasperatedly. "Yes, I'll tell him," I grumble.

We eventually move back to the library and I show him the only references I have found from our library that even hint that there is a place between the living and the dead.

The day goes quickly by, and soon it is dark outside.

"I have to leave soon," Potter says after glancing at the timepiece on the wall. "Uh…come to dinner?" He asks tentatively, chewing his bottom lip as he gives me a searching look.

And fuck, if his words from earlier, or the light touch of his fingers against mine didn't distract me enough, this will. My eyes drop involuntarily down to his lips, and I swallow hard. And I know I'm not in a state to be in anyone's company. At least anyone other than Potter's, that is.

"Another time," I say as I move my eyes up and give him a strained smile. I can't really do much better right now.

We walk downstairs into the kitchen, and there's a tense silence when Potter turns towards me.

There's something in his eyes and the way he looks at me, something that makes my insides squirm with the need to touch him. With the need to feel him against me.

Potter surprises me by taking a step towards me. He takes my hand, laces our fingers together and tugs me closer. And I can't do anything but follow him blindly, too stunned by his initiative. Too worked up about the possibilities that could result from this.

He's looking nervous, hesitant as our bodies are nearly touching.

"Okay?" He asks quietly, his eyes nervously running over my face as he licks his lips.

Oh, fuck…I'm ruined.

I give him a curt nod, and swallow audibly. "Okay."

Potter leans closer to me, slowly, almost frustratingly so. Until our lips touch. Then it feels like my head is made of liquid, like every coherent thought has dribbled out of my ears. The only thing I can feel, or think of, is him. His mouth, his scent, the way he is warm and soft and equally hard at the same time. The way he clutches my hand, and the way his lips press against mine, so confidently, so effortlessly, the nervousness long gone.

His nose brushes mine as he moves slightly, tilting his head for better access, sending shivers down my spine. My heart is hammering in my chest, and the need to touch him, to taste him grows inside me, making every inch of me awake and alive and eager for more.

Knowing that I can't let this…craving inside of me take over, I pull away, only so much that our lips are not touching, but our breaths still mingling. Potter leans his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his body trembling, and I try to steady my hands and my rapidly beating heart, before I speak.

"Wow, that was…" I say quietly, finding myself at a loss for words. That  _was_ , wasn't it. Fuck…I can't even think straight.

"Yeah, wow…" Potter breathes, a light chuckle escaping from him. "Can we just…can we do that again?" He whispers unsteadily.

I suppress a grin and nod faintly. "I think we might be able to," I say steadily.

As Potter lets out an amused huff, I touch the line of his jaw and his lips part slightly, his eyes opening and fixating on mine. I gently pull him towards me and close the distance between our lips again.

Potter shudders from the contact and places a hand against my chest as he kisses me back, tentatively, slow at first, but then more firmly.

And Salazar, it feels like nothing I've felt before.

Minutes go by, hell, it might as well be hours, but the kiss still ends too soon. Potter leans back this time, a dazed look in his eyes, his cheeks glowing, and his lips…his lips soft and red and so fucking delectable.

I swear the image of him right now is already imprinted somewhere into my brain, and I'm never going to get rid of it. Not that I'd even want to.

"I should go," Potter says reluctantly, gives our joined hands a sad smile before letting go of me.

I manage to collect myself together and trail a hand though my hair as I lick the taste of him from my lips.

"Yeah. They'll worry if you won't show up soon…" I mutter distractedly.

I push away the thoughts of frustration and unhappiness I suddenly feel, into a dark corner of my mind. But that doesn't help with the fact that I don't want him to leave.

Potter frowns as he studies my features. "Could we…maybe…see each other? Before I go back to Hogwarts?" He asks, his voice mixed with uncertainness and anticipation.

With a jolt of relief, I give him a small smile before I speak. "Yes."

Potter's lips twist into a lopsided grin. "Okay. I'll, um…I'll let you know when I can come, yeah?"

I nod at him and then he turns towards the fireplace. He grabs a handful of floo powder and throws it into the fire, yelling the name of the Weasley home. With one last, lingering glance towards me, he walks into the green flames and disappears.


	20. Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still focusing a bit more in Regulus/Harry, at least until Harry goes back to school ;) Thank you for reading!

 

**Chapter 20: Flames**

**The Burrow, January 3rd 1997**

"How's it going?" Ron asks as we pack away some of the Christmas decorations in the attic. "I mean, with Regulus," he continues as he wipes his brow after managing to wrestle the multiple strings of lights – non fairy – into a one small box.

I almost drop the glass ornaments I'm holding as my hands jerk with surprise. What does he mean? Does he know something? I didn't tell him – or anyone, for that matter – about what happened with Regulus at Grimmauld last Friday. I'm still trying to process the whole incident in my head. And it's not actually that easy to think about anything rationally since he's in my head all the time, and all I can think of is how it felt when our lips met, how it felt to be close to him, to touch him. It's making me crazy, making me think all sorts of thoughts, some of which I wouldn't even dare to say aloud.

The fact that we've seen each other afterwards a couple of times, whenever Regulus has joined us for dinner at the Burrow, hasn't helped either, as there hasn't really been a chance to speak with him alone. Nothing more than a few subtle glances or a brush of our knees under the table has happened during those nights, of course, as the Weasley house has been full of people. I'd say both Regulus and I have been perfectly civil and distant towards the other. But now I'm starting to suspect if the others see something more than that.

"W-What do you mean?" I ask as I keep my focus on the task, trying to at least keep my voice steady since I know my face is slowly becoming more coloured than it usually is.

I can see Ron shrugging from the corner of my eye. "Dunno, just thought you guys were in better terms…And aren't you gonna go there again tomorrow?" He mutters and curses when he finds another pile of Christmas lights behind him.

I clear my throat. "Yeah. I am. And yeah, we're okay, I guess." I say quickly, and Ron gives me a quizzical look as he takes in my features.

Shit.

Luckily Ginny saves me from further questioning as she pops by at the attic to announce that lunch is ready. She's waving a handful of letters in her left hand, an amused look in her eyes. "Speaking of being 'okay'," she says, her brow arching towards her brother. "Someone seems to be missing her…" she glances at the letter on top, "…Won-Won," she says, her nose scrunching up with a mild distaste.

I can't stop the quiet snort that escapes from me, causing Ron to send a nasty scowl at my direction.

"Been reading through my mail, huh?" Ron asks from his sister with irritation and stands up to snatch the pile of letters from Ginny's outstretched hand.

Ginny rolls her eyes in exasperation. " _Not_  something I'd do even if I were bored out of my mind," She says dryly as Ron pockets the letters and stalks away from the attic.

"You, know, I think she actually expects you to reply to her owls!" Ginny taunts with a quiet snigger as we follow Ron downstairs.

After lunch Ron, Ginny and I lounge in the sitting room, talking about Quidditch tactics even though all my thoughts are in the next day. Tomorrow, I'm going back to Grimmauld, to talk with Regulus about my godfather's situation, and Merlin knows what else. Everyone else thinks I'll be going through Sirius's stuff with his brother. I know it's bad to lie to everyone, but honestly, I don't even want to think about the conversation that would follow if I'd told them the truth.

I don't think anyone but Hermione would approve whatever it is that is happening between Regulus and me. Maybe they would, over time. But still, I know what everyone would think. He's older than me, and, well,  _he's a_   _man_. And if those are not the details that would come up, then there's him going through a rough patch, his drinking problem, the fact that he's a former Death Eater, and the list goes on…

Nothing in the list bothers me so much as it confuses me, but I still don't think that it's anyone's business. I actually might not care what everyone else would think, because that's something I've learned to ignore over the years – other's opinions about me. Nevertheless…until I know what this is, this…connection between Regulus and me, no one else will know either.

As for the other subject…Sirius…well, despite Hermione supposedly thinking that there isn't anything wrong with my thoughts or feelings regarding Regulus, I still think not even she would believe me about Sirius's situation with the proof that I have. She'd say that Regulus is only dreaming about his brother, that it is his way of coping, and now he's dragging me into believing that my godfather's alive somewhere, making me go through the loss and grief all over again.

At least, I can imagine her words to me would be something of the sort. I remember Regulus mentioning how neither Dumbledore nor Lupin had believed him, and the thought makes my insides prickle with annoyance. Had they even asked Regulus to give them proof, like I did? Or had they merely tossed away the subject, a subject that was obviously eating Regulus alive, without really listening, thinking it wasn't worth investigating?

Our conversation about Quidditch comes to an end when Ron receives another owl from Lavender. Ginny and I exchange an incredulous look while Ron's attention is elsewhere. That woman is seriously hanging onto him like a hungry person. Ron grumbles something under his breath about replying to Lavender and slips quickly into the stairway.

"Merlin…that's not healthy," I mutter as I stare at Ron's empty seat, a deep frown between my brows. "Or…is it…?" I ask hesitantly from Ginny, feeling greatly confused. Is this only about Ron not handling it well since it is his first girlfriend? And what about…well…do blokes expect similar attention?

Why the hell am I even thinking about that?

Ginny lets out a short laughter. "No. Certainly NOT healthy," She says seriously, and then her lips pull into a small smirk. "Didn't think he'd let it go on for this long…" She mutters, the thoughtful look in her eyes trained at the coffee table. Is she talking about Ron and Hermione?

"Erm…What do you mean?" I ask mutedly, wondering if we're thinking about the same thing.

Ginny levels me with a pointed look. "You know very well what I mean. I'm talking about Ron being a bloody idiot and trying to get Hermione's attention by making her jealous, while Hermione does exactly the same," she says dryly. "They're not exactly very subtle," She continues, and then her expression changes into a searching one as she studies my features.

Does she suspect something? Have I been as obvious as Ron and Hermione have? Merlin all this…secrecy is really taking its toll on my nerves.

I cough uncomfortably and stand up. "Yeah, I know what you mean…" I mutter and jerk my head towards the stairway, escaping the situation. "Bathroom," I say and move hastily towards upstairs.

Fortunately, when I come back downstairs, Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur are all back from work and Ginny's observant eyes are focused elsewhere for the rest of the night.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, January 4th 1997**

"Hey," I say as I emerge from the fireplace and find Regulus at the kitchen table, watching me with an expectant look that quickly changes into something unreadable.

"Potter," He says with a polite nod. "Tea?" He asks and gestures at the table. "You've had lunch already?"

I study his features for a bit before taking a couple of steps towards him. "No, thank you. Yes, I've eaten." I say quickly, swallowing the light-headedness I'm suddenly feeling.

Regulus inclines his head and stands up from the table, gives me a long, contemplative look before moving towards the kitchen door, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upwards.

We're both silent as we ascend the stairs and enter the drawing room on the first floor before heading straight to the tapestry to see the missing date of Sirius's death.

"Has it come back at any point after last summer?" I ask absently as I watch closely at the ancient textile and try to see something – anything – that could give us a hint of my godfather's situation.

Regulus clears his throat as he leans against the tapestry next to me. "Every once in a while, but even then, it is always flickering," he says quietly.

I glance at him. "When's, um, the last time you talked with him?" I ask tentatively, and Regulus's brows twitch slightly as he stares at me quietly.

"Two months ago," he says after a short silence, his voice tense, but the look in his eyes detached.

Oh.

I nod slowly, my eyes going back to trace the scorch mark on the tapestry. "I'm…I'm sure you'll see him eventually…" I say weakly, my words not even convincing myself.

I swallow hard and straighten up from my crouched position before fixing him a steady look. "What can I do to help him?" I ask, feeling determined, feeling hopeful.

Regulus eyes me for a moment before he gestures towards the seating area where a handful of books and notes are scattered over the coffee table.

He flicks his wand at the mess, organising everything as we sit down side by side on the couch.

"Remember when we looked at some of the literature I had managed to find about the place between the living and the dead?" He asks, glancing at me before flipping open his notes.

I give him a quick nod. "Yeah. Yeah, sure. Something about a Veil separating the two worlds? And you…you suspected that the literal veil I saw hanging in the Ministry could be a portal, or a manifestation of the Veil?" I ask hesitantly. Regulus gives me a nod before I continue, "But…what I've been wondering is that in your…meetings…with Sirius, you said that there's no veil hanging in the archway? And when I was at the Ministry, there definitely was one," I say and chew the inside of my cheek as I recall how the dark curtain had fluttered silently after Sirius had vanished through the archway.

"I think…I think that there has to be more to it," He says slowly, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "As the Veil is believed to separate the worlds of the living and the dead, and somehow linking the two worlds, I assume the place where I've talked with my brother is somewhere between. Somewhere he's trapped in," he continues steadily.

I give him an absent nod as I recall seeing the archway for the first time. "I heard them. The voices. Before the duelling started, I was there with my friends, and when I stepped closer to inspect the archway, I heard…whispering. Heard them calling me, urging me to follow them," I tell him, and Regulus's eyes widen slightly as he listens to me.

Regulus flicks his wand to add something into his notes. "I think what we need to focus on, is how to tie him back into this world," He says reflectively before looking at me again.

"But how – that is the question, isn't it? I don't suppose there's actually a spell or magic that powerful to make that happen," I mutter, unable to stop a hint of resignation seeping into my voice.

Regulus gives me a wry smile. "You'd be surprised how much my ancestors have achieved. Sadly, I haven't come across of bringing a person back from the dead," He says with a mild frown, and after seeing my sullen expression, he continues, "Still, there are powerful spells and magic only my family seems to have uncovered. Certainly dangerous…definitely comes with a price and consequences one would have to carry the rest of their lives, and even after."

I give him a hard look. "I don't care. As long as we can save him," I say determinedly, to which he rolls his eyes and mutters something about Gryffindor predictability.

"The problem is, that even if we gather a list of spells and find a way to get into the Death Chamber, where I presume the magic has to happen, there's no guarantee that we will succeed, or that we will have another chance at trying – yes, Potter, _we_ , as I'm sure as hell not going to let you do it by yourself – " he finishes with an exasperated tone after seeing my arched brow.

I try to hide the grin that's threatening to spread across my face. I clear my throat and nod at his notes. "What do you have?" I ask, becoming solemn very quickly as Regulus starts to explain different types of blood magic his ancestors have used to bind creatures and slaves, and…women to their masters.

Later that night we have a list of some of the most horrifying sacrificial spells and rituals I hadn't thought even existed. Regulus thinks that this is only a start, that if we only have a one shot in the Ministry – and it's not even necessarily guaranteed that both of us survive this kind of magic without…well, consequences – we need to find out everything there is. So, we agree that Regulus will keep on digging into his ancestral secrets while I on the other hand will go through the Hogwarts library.

"There might not be anything else than this," Regulus says, warning me of the possibility as he glances at his notes. "I'd be surprised if Hogwarts had something we could use, but I suppose it is worth to look," He continues, and then gives me a scrutinising look. "As long as you won't do anything stupid in order to do that," He says with a stern look, and it is clear he's waiting an answer.

I give him a lopsided grin. "Wouldn't dream of it."

Regulus arches a brow but continues on the topic. "Once all the possibilities have been looked at, we will start planning how to actually get into the Ministry without getting caught. With the current situation in the wizarding world – the disappearances, the tightened security – I assume it won't be an easy task, and nothing like last year," he says, eyeing me carefully, hinting at the incident in the Ministry.

The incident where six underage students of Hogwarts had managed to get into the Ministry, and into the Department of Mysteries without anyone noticing.

"As soon as we get an opening, I reckon we should use it," I say matter-of-factly.

Regulus gives me a small shake of his head. "No, I think we should not," he says and I open my mouth to disagree as he continues, "You still have the trace in you. It could be even more dangerous to enter there if you are still underage and can't perform magic without them knowing," he says, a twitch of uneasiness flickering across his brow.

Oh. Didn't really think about that…

Regulus eyes me with a speculative look before he speaks again. "Despite the fact that I am most likely the one to perform this magic, I still might need you to get me out," he says quietly, his voice blank before he puts the parchment filled with spells on a small stack on the table.

I blink at his nonchalance, but decide not to argue as Regulus levels me a look that tells me the conversation is over.

Well, it might be…for now, at least.

I let out a weary sigh and start collecting the books that are now scattered on the floor and on the couch. I glance at the watch on my wrist – it is already nearly eight in the evening, and dinner time. A time when I promised to return to the Burrow.

My eyes meet Regulus's several times during the short moment we gather the items to the coffee table. He feels warm next to me, the look in his eyes curious and…slightly heated, and the way his lips start to twitch upwards after he sees the bashful smile on my face just makes me want to stay for a bit longer. After everything is organised on the table, I realise he could've just waved his wand to do all of that in a blink of an eye. But he hadn't.

I turn to him, and the air seems more tense, heavy with anticipation. Suddenly we are lunging at each other, our lips crashing together, our hands grasping the other in desperation. My hands press against his shoulders as Regulus takes a hold of my waist. As our lips slide eagerly together, melting against each other, tasting, craving the other, I feel the tips of his fingers moving slowly over the fabric of my shirt. His soft touch makes me shiver and let out a stuttering breath before threading my hands through his smooth, long hair. Regulus breathes out heavily and deepens the kiss, pulling me closer, making me mad with expectation. Making me want more.

As if reading my thoughts, his tongue brushes my bottom lip, and a shock of electricity runs up my spine, my stomach clenching pleasantly, and I let out a strangled gasp against his lips. My fingers tangle into his hair and take a firm hold of it, and it is nothing like the last time. The last time we kissed was slow, tentative, exploring, but still reserved. There's nothing gentle and slow now. This kiss is consuming, hungry and hard, filled with urgency.

After only a moment of hesitation, I open my mouth and press my tongue against his, tasting him, earning a muffled groan from his lips while his fingers press against my hips more securely. And Merlin, he feels so good that I'm afraid I'll lose myself into him. My toes are curling inside my trainers, and I'm struggling to keep myself in place, to keep myself from crawling over his lap. Regulus tilts his head and breaks the kiss, his lips moving downwards, across my jaw and my neck with soft kisses, the pace suddenly slower, more intimate. I can only exhale ragged puffs of air as I battle my emotions for control, as I try to wrap my head around this.

His touch makes my skin tingle with need, and when his teeth lightly drag against my throat I jerk in surprise.

"Bloody hell," I gasp, my fingers tugging his hair hard as a wave of desire washes over me. My head feels dizzy, as if all the blood and all the coherent thoughts in there have left, travelling to other places in my body.

I can feel Regulus's smile against my neck before he dives back to meet my lips, swallowing any further noises erupting from between us. Shit…this is…this is more than I anticipated, more than I dared to dream about, more than I've ever even imagined feeling. My hands pull him closer, my tongue seeking his, drawing a surprised, quiet sound from his throat as our kisses turn more demanding, more desperate.

I'm just about to give in to the need to get even closer to him when there's a loud crash from downstairs, and silent cursing in the hallway as the portrait of Walburga Black starts to scream with a litany of obscenities. Regulus and I jump quickly away from each other. We share a shocked look for a fraction of a second before grabbing our wands and rushing to stand up. A moment later the portrait is silenced and Tonks's voice carries from the stairway.

"Harry? …Regulus?" She calls, a hint of irritation in her voice. "That bloody umbrella stand…" She mutters as she opens the drawing room door.

As Regulus and I stare at Tonks in surprise, Tonks blinks a couple of times, clearly trying to read the situation; where both Regulus and I stand in alert in the middle of the room, our wands at the ready, our appearances most likely very dishevelled.

Regulus clears his throat and puts his wand subtly away, drawing my attention to him. "Cousin. To what do we owe the honour of your presence?" He asks, his voice still not as stable and void of feeling as it usually is, even though his face is a perfect mask of indifference. He glances at me, his lips red and swollen and slightly parted, and did I really do that to him? He looks so ruffled, his clean-shaven cheeks tinged with red, and a hint of dazedness pushing through his blank expression as our eyes connect. And I can't do anything but stare at him as I try to suppress a smug grin.

Then I remember Tonks and move my gaze quickly back to her, only to see that her stare has turned from startled to inquisitive and suspicious.

"You missed dinner, Harry. Molly sent me to see if everything's okay." She says slowly, her eyes moving fast between Regulus and me. "You okay, Harry?" She asks after a short silence, studying my features, glancing at Regulus with a small frown between her brows.

"Oh! Yeah, er…lost the track of time, I reckon," I say sheepishly, and definitely aware how my cheeks are heating up.

Tonks's eyes narrow a bit. "Right," she says again with that slow, calculating voice. "You should go though. Before Molly comes here to check herself," she adds, almost absent-mindedly as her focus is fixated on Regulus. Regulus only stares back at her coolly.

"Yeah. Um. Yeah. I should…go," I mumble back, unsuccessfully trying to read the two cousins and their thoughts. "See you later," I mutter towards Regulus as I quickly exit the room and run downstairs towards the fireplace.

* * *

As my cousin continues to stare at me with a condemning look, I sigh inwardly and move back to the couch. I lift my brows slightly at her to indicate that whatever she's here to say, she ought to say it.

"Care to tell me what's going on with you and Harry?" She asks casually, her eyes never leaving mine.

I arch a brow at her. "What are you implying, dear cousin?" I ask calmly.

Nymphadora walks to me and sits down next to me on the couch before levelling me an exasperated look. "You know very well what I'm implying,  _cousin_. The secretive looks you've been trading at dinners were enough to give me the impression even without  _this_ ," she says and gestures at me, "happening."

I merely raise my brows in a mute question.

Nymphadora scoffs. "Oh, don't give me that. Don't assume I'm as ignorant as the others might be. I'm a Black, for Circe's sake. And the longing, subtle looks you've been exchanging with Harry – I practically invented them!" She says, her voice filled with frustration and bitterness, and I know exactly to whom she has been casting those kinds of looks.

I suppress a much-needed eye roll and instead give her an indifferent look. "Why do you care?"

Nymphadora seethes. "Of course I care!" She says quickly and then her brows pull down together and her voice becomes gentler. "Just…I…do you think this is…wise? You've both lost someone, and…well…" Her voice trails off as she averts her gaze.

I narrow my eyes at her. "What?" I ask, my voice a bit colder now. "Do tell what your thoughts on this…matter…are," I continue, already guessing what she's on about.

Nymphadora lifts her chin up slightly. "I think that…maybe Harry is attaching himself to you because you remind him of Sirius. That maybe Harry doesn't know what he wants, and maybe he is confused," she says simply, even though there's a hint of doubt in her voice, as if she's questioning her own thoughts still.

A surge of rage travels through me.

How fucking dare she? How dare she assume that…that I'd take an advantage of Potter like that? And he's not attaching himself to me because of my brother. He can't be. This…whatever this is, started long before my brother got trapped in the archway. Long before the events in the Ministry.

I clench my jaw but say nothing to her, since everything I want to say would be too crass for her to hear. She leaves shortly after with a weary sigh, and then I'm alone with my thoughts, with doubts seeking their way into my head.

What if…What if this is only happening because of what happened to my brother?

* * *

**Hogwarts, January 7th 1997**

"He also said that Scrimgeour has had him followed, and that the Minister's trying to find out where Dumbledore's been going when he's not at Hogwarts," I say quietly as I finish my recap about the previous night to Ron over the breakfast. "And even though Dumbledore didn't want to tell me, I bet he's been searching clues about Voldemort's past the whole time…" I whisper quickly as glance around us to make sure no one's paying us any attention.

As Ron winces to the name, I chew the inside of my cheek and think about the homework Dumbledore had given me. Homework that seems almost impossible for me to accomplish if Dumbledore himself hasn't had such luck.

"I just don't know how I'm supposed to do what he asks from me..." I say with a frustrated sigh.

Last night was the third lesson with Dumbledore, where we once again viewed memories of Voldemort, from a time during his last years in Hogwarts. The first memory, Morfin Gaunt's memory, showed us a scene where a sixteen-year-old Voldemort came to see his uncle. Voldemort learned about his parentage, his Muggle father and grandparents, whom he murdered with Morfin's wand before planting a false memory into Morfin's mind, making his uncle believe that he was the one who had killed the Riddles. Apparently, Morfin spent his remaining days in Azkaban, agonizing about losing his father's ring.

The second memory, Professor Slughorn's memory, was a short one, but according to Dumbledore, the most important one he had collected. It seemed to be one of those Slughorn's get togethers, as there had been a handful of boys and girls in their mid-teens, surrounding the younger version of the Potion Master. Voldemort was one of the students, looking handsome and relaxed in the midst of his classmates, his grandfather's ring gleaming in his finger. Something odd had happened in the memory, twice, as the room had been filled with fog for a moment before it had cleared. The memory had ended soon afterwards. Dumbledore explained that the memory had been tampered with, and he assumes that Slughorn had done that himself because he is ashamed of what he remembers.

Before I returned to the Gryffindor Tower, Dumbledore gave me a mission – to secure the true memory from Slughorn. He told me that trying to take the truth from Slughorn by force might do much more harm than good, and for some reason, Dumbledore believes that I would be able to penetrate Slughorn's defences and persuade him to divulge the real memory.

Ron gives me a small shrug. "Dunno, mate…I mean, he loves you," he says after swallowing a mouthful of fried eggs. "Won't refuse you anything, will he? Not his little  _Potions Prince_ ," He says and smirks as I send him a mild glare.

"Just hang back after class this afternoon and ask him?" Ron continues, seeming to believe that that's all it takes to get the memory from Slughorn.

"I dunno…" I mutter but our conversation comes to an end as Lavender slides to sit down on Ron's other side. I empty my cup of tea and make my excuses, not wanting to hang as their third wheel.

I meet with Hermione in the snowy courtyard after breakfast and before our classes, as Hermione still refuses to remain near Ron's presence, preferring to eat early and then spend her time either in the library or outside.

After explaining everything I'd seen in the memories and what Dumbledore expects from me, it is obvious that Hermione is not as confident of my success as Ron is.

"Slughorn must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn't get it out of him," she says quietly, looking warily around us, even though we have secured our surroundings with a subtle Muffliato. There's no one in the courtyard, only the two of us, huddled on a stony bench with a couple of Hermione's warming charms making the cold weather feel almost tolerable.

"Horcruxes…Horcruxes…I've never even heard of them…" She mutters and stares into somewhere distant.

I can't stop the disappointment that fills my stomach. "You haven't?" I ask, and rub my temple. What now? If Hermione doesn't know the answer to what Horcruxes are, who then? She's practically swallowed the content of the Hogwarts library by now, so I doubt that the Horcruxes are even mentioned in there.

Hermione sighs. "I know, right…" She says and purses her lips with irritation. "Still, I think we could take a look at the restricted section, but we'd need a permission to do that…" She says and worries her lip in thought.

I nod slowly. "I could ask Dumbledore. It's not like he doesn't want me to prepare myself," I say vaguely, hinting towards the prophecy.

Hermione gives me searching look, knowing the meaning behind my words. "Well, yes, if you can, that would make things a bit easier…" She says absently, my comment regarding the prophecy obviously still bothering her a bit.

Truth to be told, what bothers me more, is the fact that now I have more than one matter to research in the library. But still, I know that in order to find what I need to help Sirius, a permission to go through the books in the restricted section could come in handy. I clear my throat before I speak. "Yeah, okay, I'll ask."

Hermione hums, still seeming slightly absent, although now it seems that her thoughts are back to Horcruxes.

"They must be really advanced Dark magic, or why would Voldemort have wanted to know about them? I think it's going to be difficult to get the information, Harry. You'll have to be very careful about how you approach Slughorn, think out a strategy…" She says and eyes me with a small frown between her brows.

I give her a slight shrug. "Ron reckons I should just hang back after Potions this afternoon…"

Hermione scoffs and the look in her eyes turns dark. "Oh, well, if WonWon thinks that, you'd better do it," she says, not bothering to conceal the bitterness in her voice. "After all, when has WonWon's judgement ever been faulty?" She continues irately, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

I let out a small sigh. "Hermione, can't you —"

"No!" She hisses angrily, standing up and storming away so quickly I haven't got a chance to say anything back.

"Shit…" I mutter and press the heels of my palms against my eyes in frustration. I was really hoping the holidays would've helped with the situation, but it seems that Hermione's still as adamant to stay away from Ron as she had been in December. I wish that Hermione would stop being so stubborn, and that Ron would pull his head out of his arse.

Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated?

I have enough complicated in my life as it is. Trying to learn about Voldemort's past, to learn how to destroy him…Trying to research dark magic to get back my godfather…Trying to find out what Malfoy's up to.

And well, trying to figure out what it is that's happening between Regulus and me. Merlin, has it truly been only three days since I last saw him?

I wonder what happened after Tonks came to Grimmauld last Saturday? She was obviously suspecting something, but what exactly? I assume Regulus wouldn't say anything to her, but if I'm being honest, I don't know if I'd mind if he did.

I only know that I feel…different…around him. Good different. And I don't want to lose that.

Should I write to him?

...What would I write about? It's not like I'm going to pour my heart out to him in a letter, especially if I can't even voice the feelings inside my own head.

I can't ask his help finding out about Horcruxes, and I don't really think he'd be interested to offer me help to try to settle the situation with Hermione and Ron.

What I'd like to know, is if he's seen Sirius. Only…the last time I asked that, I had the feeling that I was pressuring him. And if getting pissed is the only way for Regulus to see his brother, I'd rather he didn't.

As the warming charms start to fade, I stand up with a final, strained huff of breath and make my way towards my first period Charms class.


	21. Flaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter this time, mostly following Harry since that is where the shit happens. More Regulus in the following chapters, promise ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading and reviewing!

 

**Chapter 21: Flaws**

**Grimmauld Place, February 1st 1997**

_"Finally decided to show up, huh?" My brother says, his voice sounding weary and quiet in the cold chamber._

_I move to stand up from the stone floor and run a hand though my face as I try to blink the wooziness away, still feeling the effects of the Firewhiskey I'd drained before I passed out._

_"Sirius," I croak and narrow my eyes at him. He looks thinner, his face gaunt with greyish colouring. But the look in his eyes is what makes my insides clench with fear._

_"You look like shit," I manage to breathe, my stuttering voice betraying everything I feel inside._

_Sirius's mouth twists ruefully. "You're one to talk, brother…have you actually come across with a mirror lately?" He asks, a small frown between his brows as he studies my features._

_I give him a mild shrug. "It has proven to be rather difficult for me to see you," I say, aiming for an indifferent voice._

_And it has. After two months of silence I decided to try to consume enough alcohol to make me pass out. It had worked before. The first time it didn't happen, I merely woke up hungover and confused, determined to try again. It wasn't until the third time when I began to feel desperate, after waking up from my bedroom floor, the room nearly destroyed, as if an Exploding Charm had gone off in there. And according to Kreacher, it had. Apparently, I was lucky to survive with only small cuts and bruises which the elf had managed to heal quickly._

_Sirius huffs exasperatedly, his eyes flashing with recognition. "Reggie – "_

_"Don't." I interrupt him, knowing what my brother's going to say. "I'm not going to stop. You might as well accept it," I say with a warning in my voice._

_Sirius clenches his jaw and gives me a conflicted look before I continue, "Harry says hi."_

_My brother's expression quickly turns into something between astonishment and excitement. "How is he?" He asks quickly, his eyes searching clues from mine._

_I give him a small smirk. "Stubborn and predictable as ever. Wanted me to tell you that he's doing okay," I say and as I expected, Sirius's eyes widen with shock._

_"You told him?" He asks slowly, his eyes now guarded and…accusing._

_I arch a brow at him. "Disappointed?" I merely ask, staring straight at him, determined to not waver under his hard gaze._

_Sirius scoffs. "What do you think, Reggie? I mean, are you closer to solving out how to get me the hell away from here? Are you? Because if you aren't, I have no fucking idea how could you be so stupid to drag my godson into this!" He says, his voice rising with anger._

_I grit my teeth as a surge of rage flows through me. "Fuck you." I mutter and look away, trying to calm myself, trying to remember that this might be the only chance I've got to speak with my brother, ever again. Trying to remember that he doesn't know how utterly lonely I've been for the past months; how fucking desperate I've felt because I haven't been able to see him even though I've nearly drowned myself in alcohol._

_"Reggie…" Sirius says softly after a short silence. "Reggie look at me…" He says, sounding as desperate as I feel._

_I finally move my gaze back to him, and all the air leaves from my lungs. He's not crying but his eyes are too bright…too sad. He looks so hopeless, so…broken. The look in his eyes tells me exactly how thoroughly desolate he must feel._

_"I'm sorry," He says quietly, staring at me intently. "I shouldn't have said that," he whispers._

_I swallow down the anger, pain, sickness, and all the fucking miserable feelings that try to overthrow me as I look at my brother._

_"We're going to get you out, I promise. Whatever it takes," I say, my voice rough as I battle with my emotions and the dizziness I'm beginning to feel, which indicates that our time is slowly coming to an end._

_Sirius gives me a half-hearted smirk. "Wasn't expecting anything less of you, brother."_

_I try to speak to him, try to tell him that he needs to keep fighting, that he needs to have faith, and above anything, he must not give up._

_But eventually, the light-headedness takes over, leaving me into darkness._

* * *

I'm lying in my bed, hours after waking up from the dream. My throat constricts and it feels impossible to move. To continue. I stare at the canopy of my bed, seeing nothing but blurred colours, feeling numb and defeated at the same time.

It's getting harder for me to see my brother, and seeing him now was harder than ever, especially when so many months have passed between. So many months of suffering and loneliness. For both of us.

The look in his eyes haunts me, makes my insides twist with pain, makes it difficult to breathe.

What if this was the last time that we spoke to each other? What if last night was the last time that I saw him?

What if he's going to give up? What if he's going to let go? He looked so…hopeless. So beaten. And hell, it's been eight months, and I'm no closer to get him out as I was then. Would it be easier for him to let go? I know it sure as hell wouldn't be for me. But…is it selfish of me to demand him to hold on, to continue the misery?

If we're able to execute our plan to sneak into the Ministry next summer, after Potter's birthday, it will be another six months for Sirius to stay there and fade away.

And there's no certainty that anything I try would work. What then?

How would I be able to tell my brother that I'm going to give up on him? How would I ever tell him that?

He would never give up on me, if our roles were reversed. Not now. Not ever.

Knowing that I made a promise to him, and that he'd do anything to get me back to him gives me strength. It helps me to lock away all the feelings of doubt and overcome and focus on what is important. To get my brother back.

* * *

**Hogwarts, February 2nd 1997**

I'm sitting in a reading nook in the corner of Hogwarts library, turning the pages of a mouldy book, a book which title has long ago faded, but the pages still in a readable condition as Hermione slumps in a chair opposite to me. She's holding a handful of books I know she's pulled from the restricted section and lets out an exasperated huff as she pushes her bearings into a pile on the table before picking up the topmost one, a book that looks as decaying as the one I'm going through.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to see Dumbledore to ask for a permission to the restricted section, assuming he'd demand to know what I was going to be looking for. I was more than surprised after he merely gave me a scrutinising look over his half-moon spectacles before nodding and saying that he'd inform Madam Pince.

And since then, Hermione and I have been spending every spare moment in the library, where my friend has been researching Horcruxes and where I have been pretending to do the same. What I've really been looking for, is magic that could help Regulus and me in our little quest to get Sirius out from the Veil.

"I can't believe we haven't found one single explanation of what Horcruxes do!" She hisses quietly after flicking her wand to cast a Muffliato around us. "Not a single one! We've been going through the restricted section for days now, and even in the most horrible books, where they tell you how to brew the most gruesome potions – nothing! All I've found was this, in the introduction to _Magick Moste Evile_  – listen – 'of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction' …I mean, why mention it, then?" She says impatiently, slamming the old book shut.

The book lets out a ghostly wail. "Oh, shut up," Hermione snaps at it and takes another book from the pile while I give her a shrug and move my gaze back to the book I've been reading.

It doesn't have anything about Horcruxes, of course, since I've already skimmed the book through, but it does dwell on about shaping and manipulating life-force, a force that allows life to appear and exist, grow and flourish throughout the universe. The subject itself is already interesting, but moreover, it could be something that could help us to get Sirius back. Maybe.

I can feel Hermione's gaze on me even before she speaks. "What are you reading?" She asks curiously.

I look at her, hoping that my eyes don't betray me. "Uh, nothing helpful, I reckon. Just a bunch of gibberish about spiritual and mental powers…" I trail off and move to stand up. "I'll check what is left in the shelf I've been going through," I mutter and walk towards the restricted section before Hermione can question the book further. As I reach the section I've been perusing, I quickly stash the volume into my schoolbag and pull a couple of dark looking books from the shelf before returning back to our table.

We continue reading in silence until lunch time. After lunch Hermione goes back to the library, this time to study, while I go towards the Quidditch pitch to practice with a sullen looking Ron.

"You've been spending much time with Hermione," he mutters as we walk side by side on the narrow path, surrounded by knee-deep snow. "Hanging out in the library every moment you get…" Ron continues, giving me a suspicious look.

I lift my brows at him. "She's just helping me to research about…" I say and take a quick glance around us, " _Horcruxes_ ," I whisper. "You know, the thing Voldemort mentioned to Slughorn," I continue pointedly.

Ron's ears turn slightly red in embarrassment even as he shudders to the name. "Yeah, um, sorry if I haven't been helping you out…" He says quietly, looking down. "It's just…Lavender," He says with a weary sigh. "It's like…like she'll suffocate if I'm not spending every second with her," Ron continues, sounding guilty and annoyed.

I shake my head at him. "Remind me again, why  _are_  you with her?" I ask and eye him incredulously.

Ron sighs again. "Lately…I've been asking myself the same thing, mate…" He grumbles.

We're silent for a while before Ron stops in his tracks and turns towards me. "Is she…Hermione…is she seeing anyone?" He asks carefully, looking slightly worried, as if bracing himself for my answer.

I lift my brows, not really surprised since I reckon his feelings for our friend haven't gone anywhere even though he is currently dating another girl. "Not that I know of," I tell him with a shrug before continuing towards the pitch.

Ron looks relieved and follows me, staying silent for the rest of the way until we reach the pitch where we spot Lavender and Parvati sitting at one of the stands. Ron lets out a small groan of annoyance as Lavender shrieks my friend's pet name, loudly enough for the rest of the Gryffindor team to hear and snigger at.

Exasperated by Ron's cowardness to face the situation and end the relationship when he clearly doesn't want to be in it anymore, I turn towards the rest of the team and order everyone in the air with more briskness in my voice than they are used to.

After a good ten minutes of unleashing my bad mood to my teammates, Ginny hovers closer to me, giving me a narrow-eyed look.

"Who made your face look like a smacked arse today, Potter?" She asks dryly as she watches her boyfriend dodge a Bludger before sending the Quaffle towards Demelza.

I huff at her. "Just your brother, I suppose," I grunt, knowing fully well I shouldn't let it bother me as much as it does. What's going on between Ron and Hermione is none of my business, but it still affects to our friendship. It still affects everything. And there're more important things to worry over than their quarrel. There are more important things they too should focus on. Like for example, what is Malfoy scheming? Or…what secret powers has Voldemort possibly gained during his Hogwarts' years and after? Or…even though they don't know about it, at least not yet; how long can Sirius stay in the Veil, before it is too late to save him?

Ginny sighs as she glances at Lavender and Patil at the stands, where the former is gripping the railing and cheering for Ron, who in turn is actively trying to ignore her and focus on the practice. "Yeah. Well, my brother's an arse. You should know that by now…" She says wearily. "Just…Don't take it on the team if he's being insufferable. The rest of us don't deserve that," She says with a harsh voice, making me feel slightly ashamed of myself.

"Yeah. Sorry," I say guiltily, and then jerk my head towards the others. "Go on, let's see what you've got," I say and give her an apologetic smile. Ginny smirks at me before shooting towards the other Chasers, continuing the practice.

* * *

**Hogwarts, March 1st 1997**

It seems like February has gone in a blink of an eye, and that I haven't really succeeded to accomplish anything. At least, anything I'm supposed to do. I'm no closer to persuading Slughorn than I was in the beginning of January, and after three Apparition lessons, it feels like I haven't made any progress there either. Nothing interesting has come up in the library, which made a frustrated Hermione suggest that we'd stop the research for now, and that I should focus on getting that memory from Slughorn since that would most likely answer the question.

Instead of doing what I should do, for the past few weeks I have been trying to figure out what Malfoy is up to. During our first Apparition lesson three weeks ago, I heard Malfoy argue with Grabbe, about something that is going to happen. Something in which he needs Grabbe and Goyle to keep a lookout for him. Since I still firmly believe Malfoy to be a Death Eater, it's not like I could just let that one slide. I need to know what he's planning.

I'm in the middle of making my habitual check on the Marauder's Map for Malfoy, something I've done nearly every morning, as Ron slowly wakes up in the next bed.

"Happy birthday, mate," I say and throw him a package that flies across the air to his bed and in the middle of a small pile of presents that are likely delivered by the house-elves of Hogwarts.

"Cheers," Ron says to my direction after a long yawn and then starts to open his presents.

There's a short silence, filled only with the rustling of paper, before Ron speaks. "Nice one, Harry!" He says with a wide smile as he admires the new pair of Quidditch Keeper's gloves I've given him.

"No problem," I say to him before moving my focus back on the Map. "Hey…I don't think Malfoy's in his bed…" I mutter, but Ron's too busy to unwrap his presents to answer me.

"Seriously good haul this year!" He announces, and I look up to see him holding up a heavy gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands. "See what Mum and Dad got me? Blimey, I think I'll come of age next year too…"

"Cool," I say and give the watch an approving nod. But something in the Map is still bothering me, drawing in my concentration. Where is Malfoy? He's not at breakfast, not in his common room, or his bed…

"Want one?" Ron asks thickly, holding out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons.

I glance at him again. "Oh. No thanks," I say and curse silently at the Map. "I swear, Malfoy's gone again!" I grumble with annoyance. Where in the hell he has vanished…again?

"Can't have done," Ron says before stuffing a second Cauldron into his mouth. "Come on. Let's go to breakfast. I don't wanna Apparate with an empty stomach. Although…I suppose it could make it easier…" he continues as he gets up from his bed and starts getting dressed.

I tap my wand at the Map and put it away before getting dressed as well. My thoughts still linger on Malfoy, on his continuous disappearances, and the best way to tail him without being spotted and being late for classes when I notice Ron's stopped in his tracks, in the middle of the dorm while I've already walked to the door.

"Ron?" I ask, and take in his appearance. He's looking out of the rainwashed window, with a strangely unfocused look on his face.

"Ron? Breakfast," I say, my voice slightly louder as I take a couple of steps towards him.

"I'm not hungry," he mutters, still staring into the distance.

What? I blink at him in confusion. "I thought you just said – "

"Well, all right, I'll come down with you," Ron says with a sigh. "But I don't want to eat," he continues plainly.

I give him a suspicious look. "You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons, haven't you?"

"It's not that," Ron says with another sigh. "You…you wouldn't understand."

I'm beginning to feel baffled, but know that if I'm not going to breakfast before it's over, I'm the one who has to Apparate with an empty stomach. "Fair enough," I say eventually and decide to head downstairs by myself.

"Harry!" Ron suddenly says, his voice filled with alarm.

I turn quickly back to him. "What is it?" I ask hastily, trying to assess him, trying to see if he's okay.

"Harry, I can't stand it!" Ron says, looking frustrated.

The bafflement only grows inside me. "You can't stand what?" I ask, now feeling alarmed. As I take a good look at my friend's features, I notice he looks like he's about to be sick.

"I can't stop thinking about her!" Ron says hoarsely.

What? I can only gape at him. Is he…is he talking about Lavender? Or Hermione? I'm really not sure if I want to engage into that conversation right now. "Okay…Why does that stop you having breakfast?" I ask instead, trying to make him see some sense.

"I don't think she knows how I feel, or that I exist," Ron says, looking desperate…and…besotted.

He must be talking about Hermione. Because Lavender definitely knows he exists. But so does Hermione. Although, I reckon Hermione's the one who doesn't really know how Ron feels. I clear my throat uncomfortably. "She definitely knows you exist," I say tentatively. "I mean, you've been hanging around with her for the past five years?"

Ron blinks at me. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

"What?" I ask in confusion. "Who are  _you_  talking about?" I say, and can't help but stare at my friend incredulously, as if he's lost his mind.

"Romilda Vane," Ron says softly, and his expression turns into a dreamy one, as if the mere name of the girl has brought him immense happiness.

I stare at Ron for a long time, trying to figure out if my friend's joking. "This is a joke, right? You're joking," I say with a frown. Still, it doesn't feel like a joke and that's what alarms me the most.

"I think…Harry, I think I love her," Ron breathes, looking desperate.

What the hell?

"Okay," I say and shake my head unbelievingly before walking up to Ron to take a better look at his glazed eyes. "Okay. Say that again with a straight face."

Ron merely looks at me, and if eyes could be shaped into hearts, his definitely would. "I love her," he says breathlessly. "Have you seen her hair, it's all black and shiny and silky…and her eyes? Her big dark eyes? And her –"

"This is really funny and everything," I say, starting to feel irritated. "But joke's over, all right? Drop it."

I turn to leave and then Ron hits me at the back of my head. He fucking hits me!

Staggering, I turn around. "What the hell?" I yell, and then see the look on Ron's face. The rage in his eyes. His fists are drawn up, and he looks like he's going to take a swing at me again. Before he manages to move, I pull my wand and fire the first incantation that comes into my mind.

" _Levicorpus_!" I yell and Ron lets out a surprised roar as he's being yanked from his feet, to hang upside-down from the ceiling.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I yell at him.

Ron's face is quickly turning into a purple one. "You insulted her, Harry! You said it was a joke!" He shouts back stubbornly.

"What?" I snap incredulously. "This is insane!" I say angrily. "You're insane! What's got into – "

And then I notice the box of Chocolate Cauldrons lying open on Ron's bed, realising what is going on. Remembering what Hermione warned me about before Christmas.

"Where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?" I ask suspiciously from my friend.

Ron gives me an annoyed huff. "They were a birthday present!" He insists, struggling in mid-air. "I offered you one, didn't I?"

I suppress a frustrated growl. "You just picked them up off the floor, didn't you?"

"They'd fallen off my bed, all right? Let me go!" Ron says, sounding confused.

I pinch the bridge of my nose before looking back at my mate. "They didn't fall off your bed, you prat, don't you understand? They were mine, I chucked them out of my trunk when I was looking for the map. They're the Chocolate Cauldrons Romilda gave me before Christmas and they're all spiked with love potion!"

But only one word of this seems to interest Ron.

"Romilda?" Ron says hastily. "Did you say Romilda? Harry…do you know her? Can you introduce me?"

I stare at my friend with disbelief, taking in the tremendously hopeful look in his eyes. After mulling over the situation and deciding what to do, I finally speak to him. "Yeah, I'll introduce you," I say. "I'm going to let you down now, okay?"

I flick my wand, making Ron crashing back to the floor, since, well, the bloody twat managed to get a sore lump to the back of my neck. Ron simply stands up to his feet again, grinning at me.

"She'll be in Slughorn's office," I say confidently, leading the way to the door.

"Why will she be in there?" Ron asks anxiously, hurrying to keep up with me.

I quickly think of a reply. "Oh, she has extra Potions lessons with him."

Ron seems to be okay with my lies. "Maybe I could ask if I can have them with her?" Ron says eagerly.

"Yeah, great idea," I say as we step into the common room, where I spot Lavender, waiting beside the portrait hole.

Shit…

"You're late, WonWon!" Lavender says with an exaggerated pout. "I've got you a birthday –"

"Leave me alone," Ron says impatiently, barely glancing at her. "Harry's going to introduce me to Romilda Vane," he says and pushes his way out of the portrait hole.

I grimace inwardly and glance at Lavender, who now looks close to tears. I give her an apologetic look before quickly following Ron through the portrait hole, hoping that Slughorn will be able to sort this out.

* * *

**Hogwarts, March 8th 1997**

"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle," a dreamy voice speaks, echoing over the grounds. "He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him, I think probably on purpose, it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he's playing them — oh, look, he's lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it from him, I do like her, she's very nice…"

I whirl around to stare at the commentator's podium. Surely nobody in their right mind would have let Luna Lovegood commentate? But even in high above the stands there is no mistaking that long, dirty blonde hair, nor the necklace of butterbeer corks. My eyes shift to look beside Luna, at Professor McGonagall, who's looking very uncomfortable, seeming to be having doubts about appointing Luna as a commentator.

"…but now that big Hufflepuff player's got the Quaffle from her, I can't remember his name, it's something like Bibble — no, Buggins —"

"It's Cadwallader!" Professor McGonagall yells with irritation. I let out a quiet snort before moving my focus back on the search for the Snitch.

Moments later, I hear McLaggen shouting instructions and criticism at Ginny for allowing the Quaffle out of her possession, and the next second, Cadwallader scores.

I curse under my breath and fly closer to McLaggen. "McLaggen, will you pay attention to what you're supposed to be doing and leave everyone else alone!" I yell at him with frustration.

"You're not setting a great example!" McLaggen shouts back, his face read with annoyance.

"And now Harry Potter's having an argument with his Keeper," Luna speaks serenely, while both Hufflepuff and Slytherin students below in the crowd make cheering and jeering sounds. "I don't think that'll help him find the Snitch, but maybe it's a clever ruse…"

"Bloody fuck!" I swear quietly and spun around from McLaggen, focusing again to what I'm supposed to be doing, trying to get any sight of the tiny, winged golden ball. Minutes go by, and Ginny and Demelza both score a goal, earning cheers from Gryffindor supporters in the stands. Then Cadwallader scores again, making things level, but Luna doesn't even mention it, and instead babbles something about interestingly shaped clouds and the possibility that Zacharias Smith, who had so far failed to maintain possession of the Quaffle for longer than a minute, was suffering from something called 'Loser's Lurgy'.

"Seventy-forty to Hufflepuff!" Professor McGonagall barks into Luna's megaphone.

"Is it, already?" Luna wonders dreamily. "Oh, look! The Gryffindor Keeper's got hold of one of the Beater's bats."

What?!

I spun quickly around to see that McLaggen, for some fucking reason, has pulled Peakes's bat from him and seems to be demonstrating how to hit a Bludger toward an oncoming Cadwallader.

Fucking hell.

"McLaggen!" I yell angrily. "Give him back his bat and get back to the goal posts!" I roar as I fly towards him. McLaggen takes a swipe at the Bludger just as I'm closing in, and in a fraction of a second, I realise he's sent the Bludger straight at me, before it hits home.

A blinding, sickening pain fills me, I can hear distant screams, and then, it's nothing but darkness…

The next thing I know, I'm lying in a warm and comfortable bed, a small lamp shedding light into what looks like the Hospital wing in Hogwarts. It's dark outside. I wonder what time it is, and how long I've been here? I let out a soft groan as I try to get rid of the bleariness in my eyes.

"Nice of you to drop in, mate," a familiar voice says.

I turn my head slightly, and see Ron in the next bed, grinning at me. "Hey mate," I croak and lift my hand to my head, which feels strangely heavy. There's a stiff turban of bandages around it. "What happened?" I mutter groggily as I try to sit up.

"Cracked skull," Madam Pomfrey says softly as she appears out of nowhere, gently pushing me back to lean against my pillow. "Nothing to worry about, I mended it at once, but I'm keeping you in overnight. You shouldn't over exert yourself for a few hours."

I feel a surge of rage as I remember what happened. "I don't want to stay here overnight," I grit out through my teeth and sit up. "I want to find McLaggen and kill him."

Madam Pomfrey actually rolls her eyes at me before she pushes me back more firmly. "I'm afraid that would come under the heading of 'overexertion,'" she says sternly, and lifts her wand, pointing it at me. "You will stay here until I discharge you, Potter, or I shall call the Headmaster," she says finally and then turns to go back into her office.

I curse under my breath while Ron eyes me with amusement. "D'you know how much we lost by?" I ask him bitterly, hoping to wipe that annoying giddy look from his face. And succeeding in it.

Ron frowns at me, his expression turning into a sour one. "Well, yeah I do," he says apologetically. "Final score was three hundred and twenty to sixty."

"Brilliant," I say through clenched teeth. "Just fucking brilliant," I growl, and even Ron – who usually swears like a sailor – gives me a startled look. "When I get hold of McLaggen —"

"You don't want to get hold of him, he's the size of a troll," Ron says reasonably. "Personally, I think there's a lot to be said for hexing him with that toenail thing of the Prince's. Anyway, the rest of the team might've dealt with him before you get out of here, they're not happy…"

Ron's words don't help me feel better – I know he's partly glad that McLaggen messed up so badly, since he probably now thinks he doesn't have any trouble getting back to the team. But he wouldn't have had any trouble. I mean, even if McLaggen had played well, I still would've wanted Ron back. He's a good Keeper, at least when he doesn't let his nerves get the best of him. He fits better with the whole team, and he actually listens instructions.

Our discussion moves towards Malfoy, when I tell Ron I was almost late from the game. "I just want to know what he's up to," I tell Ron. "And don't say that it's all in my head, not after what I overheard between him and Snape —"

"I never said it was all in your head," Ron says quickly, hoisting himself up on an elbow and frowning at me, "but there's no rule saying only one person at a time can be plotting anything in this place! You're getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about missing a match just to follow him…"

"I want to catch him at it!" I say hotly, feeling frustrated. "I mean, where's he going when he disappears off the map?"

"I dunno…Hogsmeade?" Ron says, yawning widely.

"I've never seen him going along any of the secret passageways on the map. I thought they were being watched now anyway?" I say pointedly.

"Well then, I dunno," Ron mutters with a sleepy voice.

I stay silent as I try to figure out how to follow Malfoy without missing classes or, well, Quidditch. If I only had the Minister's power, and I could just assign people to tail upon Malfoy.

There's a low, rumbling snore from Ron's bed. After a while Madam Pomfrey exits from her office to check on her patients, and I close my eyes to let her think I'm asleep in order to avoid her scolding me to be awake still.

After she's dimmed the lights and returned back to her office, I lie awake and stare at the ceiling, recalling the previous times I've been in the hospital wing after a Quidditch injury. The last time I'd fallen off my broom because of the Dementors, and the time before that, all the bones had been removed from my arm by the berk, Lockhart…That had probably been the most painful injury by far…I still remember the agony of re-growing an armful of bones in one night, a discomfort not eased by the arrival of an unexpected visitor in the middle of the —

I sit up abruptly, my heart pounding, my bandage turban moving to the side slightly. I know how to tail on Malfoy. I know how to have him followed without missing my classes or Quidditch.

I frown into the darkness as I whisper quietly. "Kreacher?"

There was a silent crack, and Ron groans softly in his sleep, but by the sounds of him, he doesn't fully wake up.

I quickly point my wand at the curtains surrounding my hospital bed. " _Muffliato_!" I whisper, and then light my wand silently. Kreacher's standing on the floor, near the foot of my bed.

"Master called me?" Kreacher croaks quietly, sinking into a bow even as it gives me an annoyed look.

"Yeah, I did," I say quickly, not wanting Ron or Madam Pomfrey to wake up – I can explain everything to Ron later on. "I've got a job for you."

"Kreacher will do whatever Master wants," Kreacher says, sinking so low that its lips almost touch its gnarled toes, "because Kreacher has no choice, but Kreacher is ashamed to have such a master, yes —"

"Thank you, Kreacher," I grit trough my teeth. Hell, apparently the elf can maintain a polite behaviour only when I'm in Regulus's presence. "Keep your opinions about me to yourself," I say warningly, before I continue. "I want you to tail Draco Malfoy. I want to know where he's going, who he's meeting, and what he's doing. I want you to follow him around the clock."

Kreacher gives me an alarmed look. "Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?" The elf asks slowly. "Master wants me to spy upon the pureblood cousin of my…my old Master?"

"That's the one," I say blankly, knowing already I have to specify my request to cut off any loopholes. "And you're forbidden to tip Malfoy off, Kreacher, or to show him what you're up to, or to talk to him at all, or to write him messages or…or to contact him in any way. Got it?"

The elf seems to mull over my request for a while before it gives a sullen bow and speaks with a voice oozing of resentment, "Master thinks of everything, and Kreacher must obey him, even though Master wills bad to the pureblood cousin of Master Regulus, even though Master brings filth to his house, even though – "

"That's settled, then," I hiss sharply. "I'll want regular reports, but make sure I'm not surrounded by people when you turn up. Ron and Hermione are okay."

After Kreacher's left, I turn off the light from my wand and realise how tired I am. I only manage to put my wand back to the nightstand and settle against the soft pillow, before sleep takes me away from reality.

As soon as I've drifted off, I feel a presence near me, and blink wearily.

Regulus is there, standing next to my bed, his eyes flashing with worry and curiosity.

"Hey," I mutter drowsily. "Am I dreaming?" I ask, because he can't have come here, in the middle of the night. This has to be a dream.

Regulus's mouth twitches. "And what if you were?" He asks with a low voice, his eyes studying mine.

I yawn and my eyes don't seem to want to stay open. "I'd say it's nice to see you," I mutter, my eyes drawing closed, a small grin spreading my lips.

"Thought you promised not to do anything stupid," Regulus says quietly, although, I think I detect a hint of amusement in his voice.

I let out a small huff of laughter. "You think I cracked my skull willingly, huh?"

There's silence again, and I try to open my eyes and fight against the slumber. Then I feel his fingertips lightly brushing against the back of my hand.

Realising that he really must be here since I'm definitely not dreaming that, the weariness leaves me immediately, and my eyes snap open.

"You're here?" I whisper, gaping at him in amazement.

Regulus's lips curve upwards. "How hard did you hit that head of yours, Potter?" He asks and moves his hand away from me.

I can't focus on the disappointment I feel by the lack of his touch when other, more pressing thoughts fill my head. He's really here. Inside Hogwarts. Shit, he shouldn't be here. Ron could wake up any moment, or Pomfrey…What if he's seen by someone?

"Relax." He says softly, evidently seeing my panicked expression. "I'm not going to stay for long," He continues and gives me a searching look. "As soon as you tell me why are you expecting my elf to follow my cousin, I will not burden you any longer," he says blankly, his eyes now speculative and wary.

"W-What?" I stammer, feeling startled, and then let out a frustrated groan. That conniving little creature. The elf's snitched on me. I clench my jaw and huff, "Kreacher wasn't supposed to say anything…"

Regulus arches a brow at me. "Did you actually forbid him to tell anyone, or just my cousin?" He asks dryly, seeming to know the answer.

Shit…of course. I knew the elf accepted the task too willingly. Brilliant. So, Kreacher must've gone to see Regulus.

"Didn't think so…" Regulus continues with a wry smile. "My elf came to me, and told that its Master has given it an assignment. To follow my cousin around the clock, to find out who he's meeting, and what he's doing when he's not in class. Sound familiar?" He asks, his gaze hardening.

I gape at him, not really knowing how to answer. My look gives me away, naturally.

"Potter," Regulus grits out, looking exasperated. "Why the hell would you do that?"

I lift my brows in bewilderment. He sounds so…upset. "So…you reckon there's something? That I could find something?" I ask quickly.

Regulus gives me an incredulous look. "Of course there fucking could be something. He's a son of a Death Eater. Didn't it occur to you that you'd better stay away from him?" He says forcefully, looking angry all of a sudden.

I roll my eyes at him. That's old news. Malfoy's not his father. "Malfoy's no danger, believe me. He's a coward." I grunt and look away.

"Then why have him followed?" Regulus asks sharply.

That's just it…I reckon Malfoy himself wouldn't be a danger to the others, but if he's in a middle of a Death Eater plan, where there are others, to whom he can provide information of Hogwarts…or if he's doing something for them…I have no idea. I just know that I don't trust Malfoy. I eventually give Regulus a casual shrug. "Dunno. Just…have a feeling, I suppose."

Regulus looks away, his expression contemplative. "If Kreacher is to follow him, you keep your distance. You do not go near him," He says after a short moment, or, well, more like demands.

I give him an incredulous look. "Why wouldn't I? Why are you talking like he's, I dunno, Voldemort, or something?"

Regulus twitches to the name, and turns his eyes back to me. They're cold, and furious. "Because I knew his father. And his mother."

I stare at him, trying to read him, mulling over his words. What were they like in Regulus's time? Did the Malfoys kill and torture innocents? And if so, are they still the same people they were? At least, Lucius Malfoy's actions speak against that. He's had several chances to kill me and my friends. But he hasn't.

As Regulus's gaze gives nothing away, I let out an annoyed huff and change the subject. "How are you even here? You cannot Apparate into Hogwarts…I bet Dumbledore's noticed the moment you stepped through the boundaries of the school," I say, a freckle of worry colouring my voice.

Regulus eyes me with an infuriatingly knowing look. "Wouldn't he have noticed that you summoned Kreacher here in the first place?" He asks calmly. When a deep frown takes place between my brows and unease fills my stomach, he continues, "No, I do not think that Kreacher Apparating here would alert the Headmaster, since the anti-Apparition wards do not exactly apply to elf-magic."

"And as for me being here, well…perks of being a dead man," he says indifferently. "…Kreacher brought me here," he says after seeing my disbelieving look.

There's another short silence, and then he speaks again, his eyes fixated to mine, "Stay out of trouble?" He asks quietly. "Otherwise my brother will murder me once he gets out, and then I'll be sad not be able to bother him anymore," he says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, looking much like his brother.

I lean back on my pillow and grin at him, my eyes moving over his face, stopping at his lips.

"Oh, I'm sure he'll murder the both of us…" I mutter quietly, swallowing hard as Regulus licks his lower lip in thought, and then hums in agreement.

"Yeah, I think he actually might," he says, leaning closer to me, his right hand resting next to my head, and then his mouth is inches away from mine.

His eyes sweep over my face, as if trying to memorise it before he speaks. "Better be good then…" He whispers, and slowly straightens up, amusement flickering in his expression as he hears the quiet, frustrated groan escaping from my throat.

"I have to go," He says, and evidently sees the disappointed look in my eyes as his mouth turns slightly downwards.

I give him a nod, trying and failing to say anything to him, knowing that this is not the time or place to discuss anything I need to.

The next moment, Regulus slips between the curtains surrounding my hospital bed, and then I hear a silent crack, signifying that he's left with Kreacher.

I don't really know how long I stay awake after that, and when I finally fall asleep, I dream about intense grey eyes, a faint touch of fingertips against my skin, and a warm breath ghosting across my lips.

In the morning, Ron and I are discharged from the Hospital wing, and even though I go over the details of last night several times in my head, I'm still not entirely sure if Regulus had actually been there, or if I was simply dreaming.

* * *

**Hogwarts, March 10th 1997**

I walk quickly towards the Headmaster's office, not wanting to be late from our meeting. I give the gargoyle the password Dumbledore had provided in his letter, and the stone figure leaps aside, revealing the spiral staircase.

As soon as I've stepped into the topmost step, Professor Trelawney pulls the door open from inside and gives me an incredulous look.

"So this is the reason I am to be thrown unceremoniously from your office, Dumbledore!" She says with a dramatical voice, a wounded expression behind her magnifying spectacles.

"My dear Sybill," Dumbledore says, sounding a bit exasperated, "there is no question of throwing you unceremoniously from anywhere, but Harry does have an appointment, and I really don't think there is any more to be said —"

"Very well," Professor Trelawney sniffs. "If you will not banish the usurping nag, so be it. Perhaps I shall find a school where my talents are better appreciated…" She says indifferently, and then pushes past me, disappearing into the staircase, stumbling slightly on her way.

"Please close the door and sit down, Harry," Dumbledore says wearily.

I quickly obey him and then move towards Dumbledore's desk, where I take my usual seat, opposite to him.

"Professor Trelawney still isn't happy Firenze is teaching, then?" I ask curiously.

"No," Dumbledore says with a small sigh, "Divination is turning out to be much more trouble than I could have foreseen, never having studied the subject myself. I cannot ask Firenze to return to the forest, where he is now an outcast, nor can I ask Sybill Trelawney to leave. Between ourselves, she has no idea of the danger she would be in outside the castle. She does not know — and I think it would be unwise to enlighten her — that she made the prophecy about you and Voldemort, you see." He says resignedly.

"But never mind my staffing problems," Dumbledore continues with a wave of his blackened hand. "We have much more important matters to discuss. Firstly — have you managed the task I set you at the end of our previous lesson?"

Shit.

"Um," I say, feeling guilty as Dumbledore gives me an expectant look. I've been so busy with everything else; with Apparition lessons, Quidditch, Ron being poisoned, getting my skull cracked and the quest of finding out what Malfoy is up to, I have almost forgotten about the memory. "Well…I asked Professor Slughorn about it at the end of Potions, sir, but, er, he wouldn't give it to me." I say, knowing how feeble it all sounds.

Dumbledore is silent for a while, before he speaks. "I see."

He gives me a scrutinising look over his half-moon spectacles before continuing, "And you feel that you have exerted your very best efforts in this matter, do you? That you have exercised all of your considerable ingenuity? That you have left no depth of cunning unplumbed in your quest to retrieve the memory?"

Bloody hell.

"Well," I mutter, trying to think how to justify my actions, or the lack of them, I reckon. "Well…the day Ron swallowed love potion by mistake I took him to Professor Slughorn. I thought maybe if I got Professor Slughorn in a good enough mood…"

"And did that work?" Dumbledore asks after I fall silent.

"Well, no, sir, because Ron got poisoned…" I say and grimace inwardly.

Dumbledore gives me a small nod. "Which, naturally, made you forget all about trying to retrieve the memory; I would have expected nothing else, while your best friend was in danger. Once it became clear that Mr. Weasley was going to make a full recovery, however, I would have hoped that you returned to the task I set you. I thought I made it clear to you how very important that memory is. Indeed, I did my best to impress upon you that it is the most crucial memory of all and that we will be wasting our time without it," he says, sounding disappointed, even though there's a small smile on his lips.

A hot, prickly feeling of shame spreads from the top of my head all the way down my body. Dumbledore had not raised his voice, he did not even sound angry, but still, I think I'd rather have him yell at me, since the disappointment seems to be even worse.

The silence between us makes my insides clench uncomfortably, and then I have to say something, to make it better. "Sir…I'm really sorry. I should have done more…I should have realised you wouldn't have asked me to do it if it wasn't really important."

Dumbledore's eyes soften a bit before he speaks. "Thank you for saying that, Harry," he says quietly. "May I hope, then, that you will give this matter higher priority from now on? There will be little point in our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory."

I give him a determined look. "I'll do it, sir, I'll get it from him."

"Then we shall say no more about it just now," Dumbledore says, his voice kinder now, "but continue with our story where we left off. You remember where that was?"

"Yes, sir," I say quickly. "Voldemort killed his father and his grandparents and made it look as though his Uncle Morfin had done it. Then he went back to Hogwarts and he asked…he asked Professor Slughorn about Horcruxes," I say, feeling a pang of shame.

"Very good," Dumbledore says. "Now, you will remember, I hope, that I told you at the very outset of these meetings of ours that we would be entering the realms of guesswork and speculation?"

"Yes, sir".

"Thus far, as I hope you agree, I have shown you reasonably firm sources of fact for my deductions as to what Voldemort did until the age of seventeen?" He says, looking at me expectantly.

I nod at him.

"But now, Harry," Dumbledore says, "now things become murkier and stranger. If it was difficult to find evidence about the boy Riddle, it has been almost impossible to find anyone prepared to reminisce about the man Voldemort. In fact, I doubt whether there is a soul alive, apart from himself, who could give us a full account of his life since he left Hogwarts. However, I have two last memories that I would like to share with you," Dumbledore says and gestures at the two little crystal bottles gleaming beside the Pensieve that is positioned at the table between us. "I shall then be glad of your opinion as to whether the conclusions I have drawn from them seem likely."

Hearing his words, that he actually wants my opinion, makes me feel more ashamed and all the more determined to acquire the memory from Slughorn. Dumbledore merely lifts the first of the two bottles into the light and examines it.

"I hope you are not tired of diving into other people's memories, for they are curious recollections, these two," he says, looking thoughtful. "This first one came from a very old house-elf by the name of Hokey. Before we see what Hokey witnessed, I must quickly recount how Lord Voldemort left Hogwarts," he says and fixes me a grave look.

"He reached the seventh year of his schooling with, as you might have expected, top grades in every examination he had taken. All around him, his classmates were deciding which jobs they were to pursue once they had left Hogwarts. Nearly everybody expected spectacular things from Tom Riddle, prefect, Head Boy, winner of the Award for Special Services to the School. I know that several teachers, Professor Slughorn amongst them, suggested that he join the Ministry of Magic, offered to set up appointments, put him in touch with useful contacts. He refused all offers. The next thing the staff knew, Voldemort was working at Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore says simply.

I lift my brows in surprise. "At Borgin and Burkes?" I say, feeling stunned.

"At Borgin and Burkes," Dumbledore says calmly. "I think you will see what attractions the place held for him when we have entered Hokey's memory. But this was not Voldemort's first choice of job. Hardly anyone knew of it at the time — I was one of the few in whom the then Headmaster confided — but Voldemort first approached Professor Dippet and asked whether he could remain at Hogwarts as a teacher."

"What? He wanted to stay here? Why?" I ask quickly, not able to mask the bafflement in my voice.

Dumbledore makes a low humming sound and looks contemplative. "I believe he had several reasons, though he confided none of them to Professor Dippet," Dumbledore eventually says. "Firstly, and very importantly, Voldemort was, I believe, more attached to this school than he has ever been to a person. Hogwarts was where he had been happiest; the first and only place he had felt at home."

I can't stop the uncomfortable feeling spreading in my stomach by his words. This isn't the first time I've felt there's too much similarity between Voldemort and me.

Dumbledore eyes me with a knowing look before continuing, "Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap. And thirdly, as a teacher, he would have had great power and influence over young witches and wizards. Perhaps he had gained the idea from Professor Slughorn, the teacher with whom he was on best terms, who had demonstrated how influential a role of a teacher can be. I do not imagine for an instant that Voldemort envisaged spending the rest of his life at Hogwarts, but I do think that he saw it as a useful recruiting ground, and a place where he might begin to build himself an army."

I scoff quietly. That sounds about right. "But he didn't get the job, sir?"

"No, he did not. Professor Dippet told him that he was too young at eighteen, but invited him to reapply in a few years, if he still wished to teach," Dumbledore says simply.

"How did you feel about that, sir?" I ask hesitantly.

Dumbledore gives me a wry smile. "Deeply uneasy," he says. "I had advised Armando against the appointment — I did not give the reasons I have given you, for Professor Dippet was very fond of Voldemort and convinced of his honesty. But I did not want Lord Voldemort back at this school, and especially not in a position of power."

Even though I already feel like I know the answer to it, I have to ask. "Which job did he want, sir? What subject did he want to teach?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts. It was being taught at the time by an old Professor by the name of Galatea Merrythought, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly fifty years," Dumbledore says, his expression not giving much of anything away.

"So, Voldemort went off to Borgin and Burkes, and all the staff who had admired him said what a waste it was, a brilliant young wizard like that, working in a shop. However, Voldemort was no mere assistant. Polite and handsome and clever, he was soon given particular jobs of the type that only exist in a place like Borgin and Burkes, which specialises, as you know, Harry, in objects with unusual and powerful properties. Voldemort was sent to persuade people to part with their treasures for sale by the partners, and he was, by all accounts, unusually gifted at doing this."

I let out a small huff. "I'll bet he was," I say dryly.

"Well, quite," Dumbledore continues with a faint smile. "And now it is time to hear from Hokey the house-elf, who worked for a very old, very rich witch by the name of Hepzibah Smith."

Dumbledore taps the bottle with his wand, and the cork flows out before he pours the swirling memory into the Pensieve. "After you, Harry."

* * *

Two memories later, I walk back to my dormitory, my head swirling with newly acquired information, buzzing with the jigsaw of Voldemort's schemes and goals. The first memory showed us Voldemort meeting with an old lady, Hepzibah Smith, who made the mistake of trusting the wrong man. Smith showed Voldemort two of her greatest treasures while having tea with him, and two days later, she was found dead in her home, while her house-elf had taken the blame. Voldemort had left the scene with Hepzibah's cup and locket – artefacts that had both once belonged to Hogwarts's founders – before vanishing from the wizarding community for some time.

The second memory was one of Dumbledore's, where Voldemort had come, once again, to apply for a job, ten years after murdering Smith. I can't say seeing him didn't make me shudder inwardly. His appearance hadn't yet been snakelike or his skin pearly white as it is today, but he hadn't been the handsome Riddle from his schoolyears anymore. His features seemed burned and blurred, and the whites of his eyes had acquired a permanently bloody look – the same eyes that would become entirely scarlet in the future.

I know I need to form a plan to acquire the memory from Slughorn. Dumbledore couldn't have made it more clear how essential it is for us to see. A final, missing piece of the puzzle we need before we can know for sure, and before everything will be clear.

And this time I'm determined to get it.


	22. All We’ve Done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I KNOW...it's been ages! Been busy working and not writing unfortunately :( Hopefully I will have more time to write during the summer though. Nevertheless, I hope you guys are still with me and continue to read this story. More plot (and more Regulus POV) happening in the upcoming chapters, promise ;)

**Chapter 22: All We’ve Done**

**Grimmauld Place, March 28 th 1997**

_Warm fingers entwine slowly with mine, determined bright green eyes with a steady gaze. “I’m not backing out on this.”_

_Those same eyes, the intense look, giving me the confidence when my own is wavering. “Tell him that his brother's not alone anymore. That we'll get him out, together.”_

_The hospital ward, his head wrapped up in bandages, his mind still seemingly in disorder from the injury, but those same eyes, that earnest and believing look still heavy in them, his mouth pulled up into a relaxed grin. "Oh, I'm sure he'll murder the both of us…"_

_The look of doubt before I left…_

_The look of disorientation…confusion. And the words of my cousin’s running in my head, over and over again._

_"Just…I…do you think this is…wise? You've both lost someone…maybe he’s attaching himself to you because you remind him of Sirius. That maybe he doesn't know what he wants, and maybe he is confused…”_

“Fuck,” I breathe out quietly and toss the letter back to my desk.

I let out a huff of annoyance and press the heels of my palms against my eyes, resting my elbows against the smooth surface of my desk.

Why did Nymphadora have to open her mouth? Why did she have to interfere? Why did she have to plant these thoughts…these doubts in my head?

I lower my hands and glance at the letter, dated over a week ago. It’s a letter from Potter. Asking me how am I holding up, asking if I’ve seen anyone, if I’ve heard anything.

Asking if he could visit me during his Easter holiday.

…Visit me! Like he’d need a permission for it.

I let out a weary sigh, not knowing what to write to him, not knowing if I even should write anything back.

What if she’s right?

I swear under my breath and push myself away from the desk. I flop down back to my bed, deciding to rest for a bit. It is still early.

Lupin’s probably going to visit today. He’s made a habit of doing that, usually some days after the full moon, even though he should be somewhere with the werewolf pack, on his mission. I haven’t really seen anyone during the past month, except him.

I feel like nothing is happening, like nothing is moving forward. Everyone else might be, but not me. I’m still here. Locked up in my home, desperately trying not to let myself be affected by how uncontrollable everything around me is. But still trying not to forget what is important.

What is important…

My brother. Destroying the Horcrux. Destroying _him_. The Dark Lord.

I feel like I have changed. Everything feels more out of my control than ever, and even things I could control, I don’t. I’m not the same man I was two years ago. Probably even different from the one before my brother’s…death…or whatever it is that it should be called.

Perhaps it is the loneliness that does it, or feeling inadequate. Will it ever change?

I lie in bed with my thoughts for several moments before I drag myself downstairs, remembering only then that I don’t have Kreacher there to prepare me breakfast.

“Brilliant,” I mutter as I open the kitchen door.

“What is?” Lupin asks from the table, where he’s sitting at, with a cup of coffee in one hand and the Daily Prophet in other.

There’s a pot of coffee on the table, as well as a small assortment of breakfast items.

I give Lupin an accepting nod before I speak. “Breakfast,” I grunt and sit down opposite to him and start to load my plate. “I should invite you here more often,” I mutter wryly and pour a tall cup of coffee for myself. I need caffeine to clear my head.

Lupin lets out an amused sound. “Let me know when you actually start inviting me here…” He says lightly and turns his focus on the paper, a small curve on his lips.

I eat in silence, and some time after Lupin finishes the paper and hands it to me. I give him a curt nod and shake the paper open, wondering how many people have been reported missing or found dead this time. I presume at least no one I know, since Lupin would’ve said something.

It turns out, there isn’t much in the paper – at least no mentions of attacks or deaths, or arrests. There has been a silence for a few weeks now, and nothing more than Fletcher being arrested and sent to Azkaban has happened. Apparently, he had been impersonating an Inferius during an attempted burglary. Serves him right, I think, even though the Order’s now using their resources to get him released.

It is unnerving, that nothing’s happening. Like something big is about to go on soon. It makes my stomach twinge with uneasiness and the marred mark in my forearm prickle with alarm.

I let out a sigh and drop the paper on the table. “Nothing worth mentioning then…?” I say and glance at Lupin, who has been eyeing me carefully behind his coffee cup.

His mouth twists down a bit. “Nothing the Ministry is aware of, at least. But I have heard rumours…” He says slowly, looking very tired and almost overwhelmed.

My brows lift up. “What have you heard?” I ask sharply, knowing already that it can’t be anything good if he’s heard something from the werewolves. Maybe they are organising now, maybe they’ve received orders to attack…

It’s fucking frustrating to live like this, to be in constant anticipation and alert.

Lupin sighs wearily, placing his cup on the table. “They’re planning something. Don’t know what exactly, but I think we need to ask the Order to assemble, to see if anyone else has heard anything…” He says, a deep frown between his brows.

I give him a nod and stay quiet, my mind whirling again. Is this it? The big one? And if it is, I have to have a chat with Dumbledore. Because the Dark Lord will not be finished until the piece of his soul, his safeguard is finished.

Why didn’t I do it sooner? There could have been a chance that the object had been destroyed already, and when facing a situation like we now might be facing, we wouldn’t have to worry about it. We would then have a chance – if there ever was going to be one. I’m feeling restless, going over every bit of information I’ve learned about the Horcrux in my head. I’m so absorbed with my thoughts that I don’t notice Lupin is talking to me.

“…Regulus?”

“Hmm?” I ask, shaking my head slightly to clear my thoughts. “What is it?”

Lupin watches me studiously. “I asked, how are you?”

I shrug indifferently. “Fine.”

He gives me a conflicted look, seemingly not taking my word for it, but still not pressing the matter further.

“Have you talked with anyone?” He asks, almost subtly. “Other than Kreacher,” he quickly adds, before he looks around the kitchen. “…Where is the elf?” He continues with a puzzled look.

“Potter needed it,” I say curtly and drink my cup empty.

Lupin’s brows lift slightly. “Oh? Why?”

“Not my business,” I merely say, not in the mood to explain how Potter’s stalking my cousin. Not trusting myself to stay unaffected enough to speak about it, since even thinking about the subject makes me uncomfortable, makes my head spin with frustration and worry. If Kreacher wasn’t reporting its findings to me as well, I would have found a way to stop it.

Lupin looks thoughtful for a moment before he speaks, “You’ve been in contact with Harry?”

My insides do a small flip, and I look quickly down at the table, pouring myself another cup, even though I’m already uncharacteristically fidgety, and definitely not in a need of another dose of caffeine in my veins.

“He…asked if he could visit me. If he could stop by at Grimmauld. On his Easter holiday,” I say, a bit roughly as I busy myself with my cup.

Lupin lets out a noncommittal sound and as I glance at him, I see him watching me carefully. “And what did you say to him?” He asks casually, a contemplative look in his eyes.

I clear my throat, feeling slightly awkward. “I haven’t said anything,” I say and fiddle with the handle of my cup.

Lupin eyes me for a moment in silence, evidently processing my words. “You should. Let him come see you, I mean. Let him come to Grimmauld. It…it means more to him than you might think…” He says hesitantly, and scratches his scruff of a beard before he continues. “Harry has been denied a lot of things during the past years, for his protection, of course…but…I’m not so sure if that was the right thing to do.” He says, a frown appearing between his brows. “He might have had more time with…with Sirius,” he finishes quietly.

My eyes flip back to meet his. “I’m not my brother.” I say, with a hint of hardness in my voice.

I don’t know why I’m saying this to him. Maybe…maybe since it is the thing that is bothering me the most about Potter. Does he think of me as my brother? Not romantically, definitely no. Merlin. But…is he so desperate to find a way to connect to my brother that it doesn’t matter what he gets?

“I don’t think Harry thinks of you as your brother, Regulus,” Lupin says after a short moment, his expression searching.

I really fucking hope so. I clear my throat and change the subject before he starts asking questions I don’t want to answer.

“How long are you staying?” I ask and flick my wand to clear the table, sending our plates into cleaning in the sink.

Lupin rubs the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be at London at least until the Order meeting,” he says, looking drained. “Which reminds me, I need to make a floocall and see if Dumbledore could organise the meeting as soon as possible,” he says and gives me a small smile before he stands up and walks towards the doorway.

“Write to him, Regulus,” Lupin says, lingering at the door, his voice authoritative and kind at the same time.

As soon as the door closes behind him, I let out a frustrated sigh and fold my arms on the table and drop my head to rest against them.  

* * *

**Hogwarts, March 31 st 1997**

There’s a sound of footsteps, as if someone’s running up the stairs to the Astronomy tower, towards me.

“Harry!” Hermione calls quietly, out of breath as she spots me leaning against the railing, watching over the dim grounds at dusk.

“Hey,” I say as I watch her walking closer and stop next to me.

Hermione’s eyes sweep over the grounds, and I know what she’s probably thinking; even though it’s dark, the view is still nice.

“It’s so peaceful,” she says after a short silence.

I hum agreeably as I watch a pack of Thestrals fly low over Hagrid’s Hut.

“Why are you here?” Hermione asks quietly, her eyes at the Forbidden Forest.

I lift one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Wanted some peace and quiet, I reckon.”

Hermione turns to eye me with a look that tells me she knows there’s something bothering me. She stays quiet, waiting me expectantly to turn to look at her.

I eventually do and rub my neck awkwardly. “It’s…Regulus.”

Hermione’s brows lift up slightly. “Oh?” She says tentatively, her eyes moving over my face.

As I chew the inside of my cheek and contemplate what to say to her, she continues, “Has something happened? Between you two?” She asks softly.

I let out a weary sigh and turn back to lean my forearms against the railing, not able to look at her in the eye if I’m to confess anything to her. She did ask me, a couple of weeks after Christmas, inquiring if I’d met him. Regulus. I merely told her that we went to Grimmauld for dinner with the Weasleys and then Regulus and a bunch of other people spent the Christmas day at Burrow. Hermione hadn’t pressed the matter further, and I hadn’t said anything more to the subject.

It’s not that I didn’t want to talk about it with her, just…I needed time to think things through. And then I became distracted by Malfoy. And by Dumbledore’s lessons. And by Quidditch. And then I saw him again, in the infirmary, and I was reminded of what I was missing, underneath of everything else.

Merlin, my brain sounds like a proper sap.

“Yeah. Something has happened,” I say wearily. Hermione stays quiet, listening, waiting.

“We…well, we kissed. During the holidays. And again before I left back to Hogwarts,” I say quietly, feeling my neck and my cheeks warm up with embarrassment.

Hermione let’s out an intrigued hum. I glance at her. She’s smirking.

“Stop that,” I grunt, equally pleased and annoyed by her reaction.

Hermione lets out a quiet giggle.

“I mean it,” I mutter and look away, not able to talk about this if she keeps grinning at me like that.

Hermione clears her throat and her voice becomes sombre. “Okay, but Harry…why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

I shake my head slightly and stare at the grounds. “Dunno. I…I needed time. To process it. To figure out what it meant…” I say unsurely.

“And? Did you? Process it?”

I’ve done nothing but processed it after the infirmary. Every bloody night, I’ve been processing it. Thinking about him, thinking about how bummed out I felt after he left. How frustrated I felt when he _didn’t_ kiss me then. I’ve been processing it so much that I even wrote to him, asking if we could meet.

I let out another deep sigh and scratch my head in thought. Why the hell hasn’t he replied? I know he’s received the letter since Hedwig came back a couple of days afterwards, hooting reassuringly before requesting a handful of owl treats.

“Yeah. I…I want to see him. Talk to him. I need to what’s happening. What’s gonna happen,” I mutter distractedly, my mind still somewhere between meeting him that night and the week after that, when I sent him the letter.

Hermione steps closer to me, placing a hand against my shoulder. “So write to him. Maybe…maybe you could see him. I mean, it is a relatively safe place, after all, Grimmauld Place. And we have still nearly two weeks left of our Easter break,” she says sensibly.

I glance at her. “I did. He didn’t write back,” I say, trying to look indifferent, even though I can hear my voice betraying me, letting both of us know exactly how much that bothers me.

“Oh. When? How long ago? …Has something happened?” Hermione asks quickly, looking thoughtful and anxious at the same time.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. This can’t be happening again. First Sirius, and now – granted, there hasn’t been any uninvited fake visions about anyone, but…that has been one of the thoughts running in my mind lately. “Two weeks ago.”

Hermione frowns, her face turned to the grounds again, seemingly in thought. After a short silence, she speaks, turning back to me. “I think you should go to McGonagall. Tell her that you are worried. That you’d like to know if he’s all right, and if you could meet him?”

I arch a brow at her. “And what if he’s not replying because he doesn’t _want_ to meet me?” I ask, unable to stop the feeling of anxiousness spreading again inside me. What if?

Hermione scoffs. “Then he should be a man enough to put that into writing.”

I hum noncommittally and ponder over her suggestion. Maybe she has a point. Whatever it is, I need to know that he’s there. Unharmed. So that I can sleep at nights. “Yeah, okay, I’ll go see her.”

Hermione smiles brightly at me. “Brilliant! Now…Can we maybe go back to our common room? It’s freezing out here,” She says, shivering slightly.

I give her a small smile and nod at her, digging out my Invisibility Cloak from my school bag and throwing it over us so we won’t get caught by Filch on our way back to the tower.

“Thanks,” I whisper to her as we make our way along the halls.

Hermione squeezes my arm gently. “No problem.”

* * *

**Hogwarts, April 1 st 1997**

It’s Tuesday morning, and we’re in the middle of breakfast in the Great Hall. It’s not exactly early, since it is our Easter break, but there are only a handful of students scattered at the house tables.

“I swear to Merlin, Harry, if that elf pops into our dorm in the middle of the night again like that, I’ll strangle it!”

“ _Ron_!”

I cringe at my friend. “Sorry, mate.” I say and give him an apologetic look. Kreacher came to visit me last night, to give a report of its findings about Malfoy. Luckily it was only Ron and me, since all our other dormmates have left to their homes for the Easter break. I know for a fact that Kreacher’s done it in purpose, since there have been many chances for it to give me a report about its project at times when I was actually awake. But I’ll take what I can get.

I notice Hermione narrowing her eyes at me. “Harry…? Why is Kreacher appearing into your dorm in the middle of the night? Don’t tell me you’re still making it follow Malfoy!” She hisses quietly, glancing quickly around us.

I shrug. “What if I am? And it’s for a good reason, Hermione. Kreacher has found out where Malfoy’s been disappearing from the Map!” I whisper hastily, feeling smug. I knew the snake was up to something.

Hermione falters slightly. “What is it?”

“Apparently, Malfoy’s been making visits to the Room of Requirement!” I tell my friends excitedly, but still keeping my voice down. “He’s been polyjuicing Grabbe and Goyle into different students every time! Kreacher told me that there are usually two girls waiting for him on the other side of the wall, and you already know that I’ve seen Grabbe and Goyle in the Map, hovering on the seventh floor nearly every day,” I say with a victorious smile.

Ron snorts loudly at his cereals. “Grabbe and Goyle…as girls. Now that’s a sight I’d want to see,” He says, grinning slyly.

Hermione purses her lips and seems to be thinking over something. “But that can mean anything, Harry,” she eventually says, sounding a bit unsure.

I let out a frustrated huff. “He’s a Death Eater, and he’s up to something,” I whisper darkly.

Ron shifts uncomfortably while Hermione rolls her eyes. “We don’t have any proof, Harry. You know, I wish you’d stop wasting your time on him. You should instead focus on Slughorn, and getting that memory! We know Malfoy’s practically harmless. A bully, but, well, a coward.” Hermione whispers primly.

Ron lets out a low groan and frowns a bit. I glance at him before I fix a hard look at Hermione. “I’ve tried to talk with Slughorn nearly every day now, but he’s doing his best to avoid me! And I know Malfoy’s a coward, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have friends who aren’t,” I tell her firmly. “I’m not gonna stop until I find what exactly is he doing in there.”

Hermione lets out a long sigh and focuses on her tea. A moment after, the morning post is delivered. There is a remarkably smaller flock of owls soaring over the hall than usually, as most of the students are visiting their homes during the holidays.

I spot Hedwig immediately, and stare at it in puzzlement as the owl drops closer, before gracefully landing in front of my plate, its leg outstretched, and a letter in its grip. I feel a peculiar jolt in my stomach. I wonder. I hope. My fingers are not shaking and I’m definitely not looking at Hermione, who most likely is eyeing me with a knowing expression. Hedwig sneaks a piece of bacon from my plate before taking off with a soft hoot.

Ron lets out a long groan next to me. 

“Um. Mate?” I ask quietly as I take in my friend’s purple and straining face, putting the envelope down on the table before opening it. I can wait a bit longer.

“Ron?” Hermione asks worriedly, her eyes moving across Ron’s face from the opposite side of the table.

“I’m fine.” Ron grunts, looking anything but. Ron let’s out a wheezing sound. “Those bloody wankers…” he hisses abruptly.

Hermione and I both stare at him in bewilderment.

“Mate, wha- “

Ron growls, pressing a hand over his stomach. “U-NO-POO…” He grits out, sweat beading into his brow.

Hermione’s still stunned and worried, when I understand what is happening.

April Fools’ Day. Ron seeming like he’s constipated. I quickly bite back a grin as Ron excuses himself and walks quickly away from the hall, undoubtedly heading towards the hospital wing.

Hermione turns to look at me. “What was t…oooh!” Hermione says, realising in midsentence and her expression turns into something between concerned and amused.

“How did they even manage that?” She eventually wonders with a disapproving tone.

I grin at her. “Dunno. But they’re kinda brilliant,” I say with a mild grin, not worried for my friend since I know for a fact that Ron’s brothers’ constipation-causing product is not as painful than it is uncomfortable. Yes. They got me during the holidays.

* * *

“Potter!” McGonagall’s brisk voice stops me on my tracks after breakfast.

I’m near the front doors to the castle, on my way to see Hagrid by myself. Hermione, not truly convinced by the harmlessness of the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products, has gone to see that Ron indeed is okay in the infirmary.

I quickly turn to meet the stern gaze of the Head of my House, wondering briefly if I’ve done something wrong. “Professor?”

“Follow me,” She merely says, and turns on her heels, walking towards the staircase, presumably towards her office.

Shit. What have I done now?

We’re both silent on our way upstairs, and I try to rack my brain to figure out if I’ve actually done something that’d have me in detention. Well…there is the whole following Malfoy around with the help of Kreacher. An Elf that does not live in the castle, but at Grimmauld with Regulus. _Oh_ …Maybe she knows about his short visit at the school. Bloody hell. I wonder if she’ll let me see him after whatever she’s going to scold me for.

As soon as we step into her office, she whisks her wand to close the door and flicks it once more to…silence the room? Merlin…

McGonagall sits at her writing desk, and nods at the two chairs facing her, on the other side of the desk. I gingerly sit down and lift my brows slightly in question, trying to keep an innocent and unknowing look on my face.

She purses her lips slightly before she speaks with a low voice. “Your attendance has been requested,” she says and looks at me pointedly.

I must be frowning at her in confusion, as she gives me an inpatient look and continues, “At Grimmauld Place.”

My eyes widen slightly in recognition and I quickly clear my throat. “At Grimmauld?” I ask, or croak, more like.

“I will be waiting for you at the Headmaster’s office at five o’clock on Saturday afternoon. Don’t be late,” McGonagall says firmly, her eyes narrowing at mine, scrutinising me.

I swallow hard and try to calm my nerves. Has Regulus contacted the Headmaster? It seems like he has. I now wish I’d read his letter at breakfast. Maybe I’d had a bit of foresight and could have prepared for this. “Er…yeah. I won’t.”

McGonagall’s eyes watch me carefully. “I will return for you on Sunday before lunch,” She says, and as my brows lift with surprise, she gives me a strict look, “And I presume I will not have to emphasise the importance of your safety, Potter.” She says, her voice grim. “You are not to leave the house during this visit.”

I nod at her hastily. “Yes, I won’t, professor. You can trust me.” My voice sounds calm and serious, if not a bit eager, but my insides, my mind is bursting with excitement.

It seems that I’m allowed to stay at Grimmauld, unsurveilled, for a whole night. Something I haven’t been permitted to do even when Sirius was there. How in the name of Merlin had Regulus accomplished that?

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, April 5 th 1997**

I walk nervously the last steps to the door of the Headmaster’s office. I’ve barely slept the previous night, unable to shake away the numerous thoughts swirling in my head. I finally read the letter, the moment after I left McGonagall’s office on Tuesday, actually. And I read it many, many times after that as well.

The letter hadn’t been long. Regulus had merely apologised the delay of his response, and had written that he had requested the Headmaster to allow me to stay at Grimmauld for a short time during the Easter holidays. He hadn’t said _how_ exactly had he managed to persuade Dumbledore, but explained that everything had been taken care of.

It had been relatively easy to explain my visit to Hermione and Ron. While Hermione had given me a pleased smile, and a faintly meaningful look, Ron had merely grunted, oblivious to anything else, and told me that he wished that he could’ve come too, and skip the Apparition exam practice at Hogsmeade, as he was fairly sure he was going to bollocks it up.

I knock on the door, and after hearing a quiet ‘enter’, I walk inside, feeling nervous.

“Good afternoon, Potter,” McGonagall says, and inclines her head. “Shall we?” She says, in a way that doesn’t sound a question.

I give her a nod and glance around the room. We’re alone. “Where’s D- the Headmaster?” I ask, remembering that I hadn’t seen him at lunch in the Great Hall either.

McGonagall gives me an unreadable look. “The Headmaster has some urgent matters he needs to attend to. He will not be joining us,” she says, her voice firm as she takes a handful of floo powder from the mantel.

I quickly walk up to her and follow her example. After she gives me a curt nod, I throw the powder into the empty fireplace, and instantly, green flames roar into life. I keep my voice steady as I call the place that has been on my dreams and my thoughts more than I want to admit, and walk into the heatless, emerald green fire.

It doesn’t take long until I stumble into the familiar drawing room. I step aside to make room for McGonagall as I dust away the soot and glance around me.

“Potter,” Regulus greets me politely, standing in the middle of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, looking immaculate as ever.

I don’t have time to reply anything other than a quick ‘hey’, before McGonagall steps gracefully out from the fireplace and with a quick flick of her wand cleans both of our attires.

“Cheers,” I mutter, and McGonagall arches a brow at me. “Professor,” I hastily add, not sure if I’m imagining the faint amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Black,” McGonagall greets Regulus after turning to look at the man in question.

Regulus gives her a nod. “Professor McGonagall, I’m pleased to see you again,” he says courteously.

“Likewise,” McGonagall says, and to my surprise gives Regulus a hint of a smile before glancing back to the fireplace, “There will be no one else joining us from Hogwarts tonight, so you may close the connection,” she says evenly.

Regulus’s brows twitch slightly but then he inclines his head and his focus shifts to the fireplace. He lifts his hand to wave his wand, supposedly closing the floo connection. I wonder if this fireplace is connected only to one place? And that is why we have been always using the one in the kitchen?

“Have others arrived yet?” McGonagall asks as she walks towards Regulus.

I walk hesitantly behind her. Others?

… _Of course_ …there has to be an Order meeting here today, otherwise McGonagall probably wouldn’t have followed me here.

Regulus clears his throat. “Yes. Everyone except Mr. Weasley and Mr. Shacklebolt were able to attend,” he says, his gaze briefly flickering to me before returning back to McGonagall.

McGonagall gives Regulus a noncommittal nod before she turns to look at me. “Potter. As agreed earlier, we do not need to draw unnecessary attention to your presence in here, so, I assume you are able to entertain yourself upstairs until the meeting is over,” she says, not unkindly, even though her voice is firm and final.

I look between her and Regulus for a short moment. “Of course. I’ll be upstairs,” I say eventually, trying to stay unaffected by the knowledge that the Order is gathering here. Trying not to feel irritated by the fact that once again, I am not invited to join them. Not giving Regulus or McGonagall another look, I walk quickly away from the drawing room, feeling both of their eyes in my back as I go.

* * *

A couple of hours later, it is half past seven in the evening, and there’s a small knock on the door to Sirius’s room.

“Come on in,” I mutter, distractedly, as I’m in the middle of reading through a large stack of different newspaper articles my godfather has kept. Many of them are about me. Some are about Voldemort, Death Eater attacks, disappearances and so on.

I turn to look at the door as Regulus steps in through it.

“Hi.” I say, watching his features carefully.

His expression is tense, and it seems that he’s bothered by something. I stand up quickly and take a couple of steps towards him. “Has something happened?” I ask, before he even has time to reply to me.

Regulus lets out a weary sigh. “No,” he mutters and heads towards his brother’s bed, slumping on the edge of it and levels me with an assessing look. “You wanted to talk?” He asks, his expression giving nothing away.

I let out a small huff. “Don’t change the subject. Why did you meet? What was discussed?” I ask, feeling irritated all of a sudden. “Or are you even allowed to tell me?” I ask, unable to shed the bitterness away from my voice.

Regulus’s mouth quirks up a bit. He stays quiet for a while, his eyes watching me carefully as I move to sit down next to him, still watching him expectantly.

“There have been rumours coming in from different sources. It has been too quiet. The Order suspects that the Dark Lord will try to take over the Ministry soon,” Regulus says quietly, looking away with a contemplative expression.

Take over the Ministry? Bloody hell. Even the mere suspicion is troubling. Would he truly have the power to do that? I suddenly start to feel anxious. He needs to be stopped. I need to get that bloody memory from Slughorn. I could’ve had done that already. I could’ve had succeeded earlier. Maybe we would now know more about those Horcruxes. Maybe we’d know how to destroy him. Maybe we already would’ve succeeded doing that. But I didn’t, and now there’s a risk of Voldemort taking over the Ministry. If he’ll do it – what is stopping him then? We all saw how easily the Ministry took over Hogwarts the previous year – regardless how powerful Dumbledore is.

Shit.

I jump up from the bed and start to pace in the room. I have to make a plan. I have to get that memory from Slughorn.

“What is it?” Regulus asks quietly, his voice blank.

I pause in the middle of the room, glance at him as I try to organise my thoughts, as I try to figure out how to get to Slughorn. For a moment, he looks almost apprehensive.

“I’m…” I grit my teeth together, wanting to tell him everything, but knowing I can’t. “I have to do something.”

Regulus arches a brow at me. “And how would you do it? How would you stop the greatest Dark Wizard there is?” He asks with a dry voice, looking at me calmly.

I give him a long look before I move back to sit next to him. I can tell him something, at least. “I have no idea. But I know I have to try,” I say quietly.

Regulus’s eyes snap back to mine, and he gives me a scrutinising look. “The prophecy?” He asks mutedly.

I lift my left shoulder in a mild shrug, watching his reaction.

Regulus looks down at his hands, fingers laced together and hanging loose between his spread knees. Despite his relaxed posture, his jaw is working, and his eyes are blazing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had already suspected what the prophecy was about before this discussion. He suddenly swears under his breath and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes.

“Hey…” I say. “It’s okay…yeah, I mean it sucks but I’ve had time to think it through,” I say as I put a calming hand against his shoulder.

Regulus turns slowly to look at me, lowering his hands. “How in the name of Salazar would one ever think that through?” He asks darkly, a deep, cold look in his eyes. Seeing right through me.

“I-I…I don’t have a choice, I suppose,” I mutter and look away, his gaze too piercing and too hard for this discussion. “It said that…that either must die at the hand of the other. And that neither can live while the other survives…” I recite from memory, keeping my voice steady.

Truth to be told, I haven’t really thought about it. I mean, I _know_ what needs to happen, but…it just seems kind of…hopeless – that I’d succeed, and be the one who walks away from it with my limbs still attached and my heart still beating. I know that even without a Horcrux, he’s more powerful than me. But I also know that he has his flaws, his weaknesses, and maybe there is something there, that could help me. So, I have to try.

Regulus is silent for a while, and I can feel his eyes trained at me. Then he lets out a huff of breath. “That’s…that’s…” He mutters and pauses. I turn to look at him. There’s worry in his eyes. And confusion. “Do you really think you have a chance?” He asks quietly.

I give him a thin smile. “I’m still in school. I’m not even of age. He has…powers most people would only dream about. And _you_ obviously think I have little to no chance beating him,” I say wryly, and Regulus’s brows furrow as he watches me silently.

He leans back to lie down on the bed, his legs still planted on the floor, and lets out an exhausted puff of breath. “Bloody hell. I told…I told my brother that I’d watch over you. That I’d help you. And I’m fucking it up…” He says, almost inaudibly, his eyes closed, his mouth twisted into a grimace.

I feel a flicker of lightness inside me by his words, and can’t stop the grin spreading across my face. Then I mull over what he’s actually said and let out a faintly amused sound. “It had nothing to do with you. You can’t change a prophecy…” I say and let myself watch his features more closely than I usually do, now that his eyes are closed. The sculptured, aristocratic features, the sharp nose and cheekbones, the night-dark hair. I try to recall how his clean-shaven skin feels like, try to recall the taste of his full lips.

“You’re staring again,” Regulus murmurs, and there’s the slightest tinge of pink blush on his cheeks as he opens his eyes.

I bet my cheeks’ colour matches his, but I don’t look away from him, and instead offer him a guilty smile.

His mouth curves into a smile, before he frowns and becomes sombre. “No…I meant something else. Something I should have done a long time ago…” He mutters quietly, staring at the canopy of the four-poster bed, the look in his eyes weary and dark.

I feel intrigued but refrain from asking, as it seems to be something that he doesn’t want to talk about.

“I saw him,” Regulus says after a short moment, and my eyes move back to his face.

“Sirius?” I ask quietly.

He nods and remains silent as he pulls up to sit straight.

“How was he? What did he say?” I ask quickly, feeling that familiar pang of helplessness course through me as I think about my godfather.

Regulus’s gaze flickers to my eyes before he looks away. “Not good,” he says with a deep sigh, that same helplessness briefly crossing his features. “I know…I _know_ that he’s not going to give up…but…I don’t know if that’s enough,” he says, his face scrunching up with misery for a short moment before he clears his throat and schools his features. “Was excited to hear you’re okay, though…” he says, clenching his jaw.

Without saying a word, I reach out to his hand that is resting on the bed between us, and thread our fingers together. His hand feels warm against mine. I give it a small squeeze, trying to reassure him that we’re getting his brother out, trying to let him know that I’m here, and that he’s not alone.

Regulus gives me a mildly confused look and stares at our joined hands. “What…what are we doing here, Potter?” He asks quietly, his voice flat.

My stomach jolts and I swallow hard. It is something I’d like to know myself as well. Something I’ve been trying to figure out during the past months. I mean, I _have_ been aware of my…well…interest towards him for a long time now, but until last December, nothing had happened between us. I just…I just feel like I, like I want to be with him. But does he want it too? And Merlin, I can’t even think about these things without feeling my skin flush with embarrassment, so how the bloody hell I’m supposed to say it to him?

“Hm?” He asks, clutching my hand to grab my attention.

I nervously lick my lips as my eyes move between his, opting to take the easy way out. “I’m, er…what do you want?” I stammer, watching him in anticipation.

Regulus’s lips twitch slightly, evidently knowing that I don’t want to be the first one to lay my cards on the table. There’s a long silence, before he speaks. “I want to be sure of you. Of your intentions, what you want and why you want it,” he says slowly, his eyes watching me closely.

“I want to be with you,” I blurt out, and even though there’s blood pounding in my ears, I don’t miss the soft, relieved breath that he lets out.

Regulus smirks at me. “What does that even mean?” He asks, sounding amused, while his thumb traces my knuckles, making my skin tingle.

A grin starts to spread across my face. “Don’t know, actually. I’m not exactly good at relationships,” I say with a small grimace.

His eyes darken slightly. “Oh? So _that’s_ what it means? A relationship?” He murmurs with a low voice and leans closer to me, his eyes flashing with glee, his mouth curved up slightly.

I can feel my pulse quickening and anticipation coursing through me as his eyes drop down to my lips. He’s definitely good at this...

“Shut up,” I breathe, right before his lips find mine and press against them.


	23. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less than 2 weeks, I'd call this an improvement ;) Okay, finally our plot moves forward a bit...let me know what you think! :)

**Chapter 23: Light**

**Grimmauld Place, April 5 th 1997**

My head is spinning, and I know there’s still a lot to be discussed, a lot to be revealed, but the only thing I can now focus on, is him. The way his breath comes out in quiet puffs, the way his lips part every few seconds, following my movements. And even though the kisses themselves are soft and innocent, both of us are panting slightly, as if we’re starved for more.

Then there’s a rumbling sound.

I become still and pull back slightly, frowning at him. “Was that – ”

Potter bites back a grin and gives me a bashful look. “Might’ve skipped dinner…” He says, a little hoarsely, and doesn’t move his hand away from the back of my head.

I huff out a laugh, trying to swallow down the pang of disappointment. Of course there’s something interrupting us.

“Come on, let’s get you something to eat,” I say after a short moment and stand up from the bed.

My brother’s bed. I don’t even want to imagine what he’d think about this. Nothing joyful I presume.

Potter follows my lead and then we’re on our way downstairs, both silent, and sharing subtle glances every now and then. I hope there’s still Molly’s stew left so we don’t actually have to start preparing anything as Kreacher is busy carrying out Potter’s orders.

Which reminds me…

“When is my elf going to be released from its duty?” I ask as we enter the kitchen.

Potter gives me an unsure look. “Do you need Kreacher to be here? I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t even ask before I gave Kreacher its task…I mean…I-I didn’t realise it would take all of its time, and you wouldn’t have anyone here – “

“It’s fine, Potter,” I say tersely as I flick my wand to summon the leftovers from the dinner Molly had brought to the meeting, fixing Potter a serving at the table before moving towards the pantry in search for drinks.

There’s no alcohol, which would’ve been a godsend, to calm my nerves that seem to always be on overdrive whenever I’m in Potter’s company. There’s only Butterbeer and Pumpkin juice, so I snatch a couple of Butterbeers and walk back to the table, handing Potter the other before sitting opposite to him and opening my bottle.

Potter starts to eat in silence.

“I’m sorry…” He says quietly after a short moment. “…But if it is okay for you, I’d be grateful to have Kreacher helping me for a bit longer…only if you’re okay with it…?” He rambles, his voice careful.

I give Potter a long look. “I’ll live.” I say in a plain manner and take a sip of my drink. Potter gives me a nod.

Another silence.

I stare at the table as my thoughts drift back to our discussion in Sirius’s room. The discussion about relationships.

“What is it?” Potter asks, and as my eyes move back to meet his, I notice the small furrow between his brow, the uncertain look in his eyes.

I clear my throat. “You do realise we cannot actually tell anyone about…what has happened between us?” I ask slowly, eyeing his expression warily.

Maybe it would be different if the Dark Lord was finished. And maybe if there wasn’t a war going on.

Potter inclines his head. “I know,” he says quickly, and then cringes slightly. “Although, I might’ve told Hermione…” He says with an apologetic smile.

I lift my brows in surprise. “Oh? What did she say?” I ask, feeling intrigued.

Potters shrugs. “She told me to come here. To meet you…” He says, his cheeks warming as he eats a couple of mouthfuls of beef stew.

Interesting…

I stay silent and then he scratches his neck and looks slightly uncomfortable under my stare. “She’s known for a while now, actually…I reckon she’s suspected it long before I told her anything…” He mutters.

I give him a noncommittal sound and take a sip from my drink. “Nymphadora knows,” I say, watching his reaction carefully.

Potter splutters.

I arch a brow at him. “She _did_ interrupt us in January, and she’s proven to be very perceptive,” I say pointedly, my jaw tightening as her words fill my mind again.

Potter’s eyes move over my face, examining me. “What did she say?” He asks quietly.

Even though I was expecting him to inquire about my cousin’s thoughts regarding…us, I suddenly find myself hesitating. Should I tell him what she said to me and what truly has been bothering me since December, or not?

What Potter said to me upstairs – it might indicate that my cousin is in fact wrong, and that Potter knows exactly what he wants. Or…it means that he is making decisions and actions his unconscious mind has determined for reasons he doesn’t understand. Reasons that have everything to do with saving my brother.

I take another sip from the bottle before I fix him a scrutinising look, deciding to come clean. “She thinks that I remind you of Sirius, that you might not know what you want,” I say mutedly.

Potter scoffs and gapes at me. “That’s not how it is!” He says promptly, his mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he continues, “I mean, of course you remind me about him, how could you not? …But…whatever this thing is, between us,” he gestures with his hand, “It started way before the Ministry,” he says in a determined manner.

“And…I would want to…you know…even if he was here…” He adds, his cheeks colouring as he stumbles in his words before averting his eyes to the table.

I suppress a smile. “You’d want to snog me even if my brother was here?” I ask simply, feeling slightly amused as the redness in Potter’s cheeks only darkens and he starts to stammer.

“I-I mean, not in front of him, or anything…” He says and rolls his eyes at me as he realises that I’m merely taking the mickey out of him.

Potter finishes his stew and then we start discussing the findings he has done in the Hogwarts library, regarding our own mission – the mission to get Sirius back. We move upstairs into the library where we go through Potter’s notes and take a look at a couple of books which he has brought with him, as well as my observations from the past months.

“Have you seen him more than that one time?” Potter asks after we’ve finished and merely lounge on different ends of the sofa.

I shake my head slightly. “No. I haven’t.”

Potter hums and watches me carefully. “Have you tried? Seeing him?”

I clench my jaw as I feel a sting of resentment. If only he knew how much I’ve tried. How fucking desperate I’ve been.

Supposedly, Potter notices my hardening features as he hastily continues, “I’m only asking because the last time you said…you said that you’d need to drink…and I don’t think – “

“Occasionally,” I interrupt him, and then let out a weary sigh. “Unfortunately, it seems that even that is not helping as it once did…” I say and rub my neck, feeling stiff for sitting in the same position for too long.

Potter frowns at me but remains quiet.

“It was February. The last time,” I say resignedly, the images of my brother seeping into my mind. The desperateness in his voice, the desolation in his eyes. “He looked…weaker. Hopeless. And broken,” I whisper, unable to look at Potter and meet his wide, empathy-filled green eyes that I know are staring straight at me.

“I told him that we will get him out, but…”

Potter clears his throat silently. “But what?” He asks tentatively.

I wish I had Firewhiskey now. Or anything that could numb these…feelings inside me. I empty my mind and turn my gaze to him, finally. “What if he’ll give up before we even try to get him out?”

Potter’s brow furrows, and he looks away, chewing the inside of his cheek in thought.

“I have hope,” he says quietly, staring at the empty fireplace facing the seating area. “You know, I’ve survived many things. Succeeded when it seemed impossible. I mean, I did duel Voldemort when I was fourteen and lived to tell about it,” he adds and glances me with a dry smirk. “So I have to have hope. For Sirius,” he says matter-of-factly, and fixes me a stubborn look.

I swallow hard, feeling too stunned by his words, too overwhelmed by them. Then I clear the tightness away from my throat and give him a wry smile. “It would have been something to see his face after you outsmarted the– _him_. For the tenth time…” I mutter, consciously not paying attention how Potter’s brows lift in surprise by my words. Potter’s eyes have always darkened somewhat, whenever I’ve spoken the Dark Lord’s name. And I don’t really blame him. Only his Death Eaters call him that.

But I’m not one of them anymore.

“He must have been disappointed,” I continue, my mouth twitching.

Potter blinks at me before he snorts and shakes his head. “It was the fourth time. And I haven’t outsmarted anyone. I’ve been lucky,” he says offhandedly. “…And believe me, he was,” He continues, a mix of amusement and darkness in his voice.

There’s a short silence, and Potter yawns widely.

“Bed then?” I ask, feeling rather tired myself. It is nearing midnight already.

Potter chews his lower lip before he replies, with a thoughtful look, “Yeah.”

* * *

As we reach the topmost floor, there’s tension in the air as we stare at each other, and then glance towards the two doors in the landing. It hasn’t been voiced, but both of us know that Potter will stay in my brother’s room for the night. And even if I certainly wouldn’t kick Potter off my bed if he’d decided to stay there, I’m discreet enough not to ask him.

Potter actually might be thinking along the same lines, if the small blush on his cheeks is anything to go by. He hesitates only for a moment before taking a couple of steps towards me.

“Good night, then,” He says quietly, his hand slowly reaching up to touch my waist, his impossibly green eyes wide and watching carefully my reaction.

I can already feel how dry my throat is, and how uncomfortable my slacks suddenly are. And I swear to Salazar, I have never reacted like this with anyone else.

I lean closer to him and incline my head until our lips are nearly touching, but not quite. I can feel Potter’s warm breath against my lips and for a moment, I wish I’d had the audacity to pull him with me to my room. To my bed. The mere thought of it makes me somewhat hard and it is all the more difficult to stay calm and respectful towards him.

I know I should stop this before I do something, we both might regret later. For Merlin’s sake, he is not even of-age yet…

But then he moves his hand up a couple of inches, his fingers pressing against my side more firmly, and I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. I slide my hands up his chest and around his neck, pulling him closer until our lips meet.

The kiss is instantly frenzied and excited, vibrating with energy. Potter’s other hand finds its way to my hair, fingers tangling in it, pulling me towards him. And I try to stop the breathy sigh escaping from my lips, try to suppress the warm shiver that racks through me, but end up failing brilliantly. I can feel him smile briefly against my lips, and I want to tell him off for it, but my words get stuck into my throat and all my thoughts vanish as he slips his tongue into my mouth, the tip of his touching mine, slowly, tentatively.

_Fuck._

Both of us groan to the intensity, too caught up in the taste of the other as every time our lips meet and our tongues touch, it becomes more rough and more passionate. I move my hands down and take a hold of Potter’s waist while his grip stays relentless; the fingers of his other hand pressing into my skin through my shirt, while his other hand is buried into my hair, angling my head for his mouth, as his lips and tongue give no mercy to mine. And _fuck_ , how this determined, bold behaviour of his only makes me want him more…

Neither of us slow down, and instead hold on to the other more securely, as if the mere thought of breaking the kiss would somehow make it stop.

It isn’t until Potter starts to walk backwards to one of the rooms – Sirius’s room – while still holding me in a tight grip and kissing me desperately, when I quickly break the kiss.

“Circe. Potter,” I pant as press my forehead against his. “We really fucking shouldn’t.”

“I know,” He whispers, but makes no move to pull back, and instead drags me closer to meet his pelvis.

If there’s still blood in my brains, it will surely travel down to my dick after I feel exactly how fucking aroused he is. “Fuck,” I wheeze. “You’re killing me, Potter,” I groan and move back an inch or two, enough not to be pressed against him.

Potter lets out a nervous, breathless laugh and swallows hard. “I’m sorry…so…I guess…I guess this is good night, then?” He says quietly.

I try to clear my head while slowly pull away from him. “Yeah.” I manage to say, my voice hoarse, which instantly brings a smile on Potter’s lips.

“Stop grinning,” I say as I narrow my eyes at him, still unable to sound nothing but wrecked.

“Good night. No wandering in the halls. And no leaving the house, or McGonagall will undoubtedly make my life very unpleasant,” I grumble, while Potter lets out a quiet snort before he salutes me, turns his back on me and walks into my brother’s room.

I swallow deeply, my eyes still on the closed door of my brother’s room. It is likely that Potter is going to be the death of me…

I let out a small huff of irritation, mainly a reaction to my own impulsiveness, before I walk into my own room and close the door behind me, knowing that I have several things to accomplish before I can even think of retiring to my bed and allowing myself to give in and fuck my fist while think of nothing else but Potter’s lips and tongue.

* * *

**Grimmauld Place, April 6 th 1997**

I wake up with a cold sheen of sweat covering my body, my jaw aching, supposedly after gritting my teeth together in my sleep. The dream I had last night…it felt very real. Horrifyingly so.

It is still early, so I lie still in my bed for a moment, gathering my thoughts, trying to separate the actual memories apart from the vivid visions I dreamt about last night.

The cave. The poison. The Inferi.

A memory.

The Dark Lord standing over my curled-up body. No…he never tortured me. I always did what he asked, and never disappointed him. Until I did.

It has to be a dream.

Shocked, piercing green eyes, now lifeless, staring upwards. Bodies around me, unmoving. A cold laugh before the Dark Lord turns his deadly stare towards me and lifts his wand to end the final piece of those who had resisted him.

…A dream.

“Circe,” I mutter and press the heels of my palms against my eyes, so hard that I begin to see stars instead of the images that are still lingering in the forefront of my mind.

Eventually, I get up from bed, wash myself and get dressed before I walk slowly downstairs, feeling worn-out. On the first landing, delicious scents of breakfast reach me, and I blink in confusion before I remember that Potter’s here.

Making breakfast. Merlin forbid, I’ve become the worst host there probably is.

The door creaks slightly as I slip into the kitchen, my brows pulling into a small frown as I see him. Potter’s standing at the stove, wearing an interesting set of Quidditch themed pyjama, his posture relaxed as he turns strips of bacon, mushrooms and scrambled eggs in the frying pan. Without magic.

“Good morning,” I mutter and walk closer to him, the frown deepening between my brows.

“Morning,” Potter says, glancing at me with a bright smile before turning his focus back to the task in hand.

I watch his ministrations curiously. “Why didn’t you summon Kreacher? Or me?”

Potter gives me a funny look. “Why would I have done that?”

“To use magic?” I say wryly, flicking my wand a couple of times to set the table and prepare tea for us.

“I thought I _could_ use magic in here, since it’s not a Muggle house, and I’m close to a Wizard or a Witch who is of-age?” He asks pointedly.

I’ve always assumed it would be so, but since I’m not actually alive, officially, I wouldn’t push my luck. I tell him so, and Potter merely shrugs.

“Whichever it is, I decided not to. I like the Muggle way,” he says and becomes slightly aloof. “…Do it at the Dursleys whenever I’m there…” He continues, more silently now, keeping his eyes at the stove.

I arch a brow at his back and retreat to sit at the table. “I’m sure you do,” I reply expressionlessly, and wonder briefly what else the poor Muggles are making him do. From what I’ve heard from Sirius, they are not exactly what you’d call pleasant people.

“Oh, those came earlier,” Potter says and points at the Daily Prophet and a small letter on top of it, both unopened. He gives me a scrutinising look as he brings the pan to the table and loads the contents of it into a platter. “Why is Dumbledore writing to you?” He asks, his voice nonchalant but his eyes betraying his curiosity.

I lift my brows at him, and Potter blushes slightly before he turns and steps towards the counter to drop the pan there. “Why are you reading my letters?” I ask blankly, watching with mild amusement as his ears turn red.

“I’m not!” He says quickly and walks back to sit at the table, opposite to me, giving me a sincere look. “I swear to Merlin, I’m not – “

“Okay, fine. You’re not.” I say and stare at him intently.

Potter chews the inside of his cheek as I flick my wand and pour us both some tea.

“Thanks. And, well, I just recognise his hand writing, is all,” he says casually and begins to load his plate.

I give him a noncommittal sound, not wanting to discuss the topic further. Even though I know it has everything to do with Potter. If he truly is the one who has to be the end of the Dark Lord, then he should know. He should know what is hidden in this house. What needs to be destroyed. But I need to speak with Dumbledore before that.

I take a sip of my tea and reach out to pull both the letter and the paper closer, dumping the latter one on the table between us, and opening the letter instead.

Potter gives me a hesitant glance before he takes the Daily Prophet and starts rifling through it.

The letter from Dumbledore is short, as I already assumed it would be. Last night, after retiring to my room, I sent a letter to him, explaining that I have urgent matters to discuss with him, and that I have information regarding the unfortunate place I had visited nearly two years ago. His response is what I expected.

 

_Dear Mr. Black,_

_Thank you for your letter. I would most certainly be interested to hear your thoughts and the information regarding the matter._

_If it is not too much of an inconvenience for you, I hope you are able to join me in my study today, on Sunday, the 6th of April, at nine p.m._

_Yours sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore_

 

So…It seems that I’ll be visiting Hogwarts today. As I glance up at Potter, I notice him watching me attentively, his bright green eyes filled with interest. The corners of my mouth lift up slightly as I flick my wand to vanish the letter, and a small frown appears between Potter’s brows.

“What time are you expected to return?” I ask, moving his focus away from the letter.

“Hm?” Potter hums, looking puzzled before he realises what I’ve asked. “Oh! McGonagall said she’d be here before lunch. So…I reckon before noon…?” He says unsurely.

I nod and glance at the old timepiece on the wall; it is not yet half nine in the morning. “Is there something you wish to do? I suppose we did look over the material thoroughly enough yesterday, but we can view it again,” I say, giving him a questioning look.

Potter mulls over my suggestion for a moment, before there’s a mischievous smile curling his lips. “I have a better idea…”

* * *

I certainly hadn’t predicted this to be Potter’s ‘better idea’. I hadn’t even thought that he knew, before he outright suggested it, explaining how my brother had once shared the information with him.

So, for the better part of the last two to three hours, we’ve been situated in the drawing room seating area, where Potter has watched me silently, occasionally rifling through _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ , and requesting me to perform simple charms wandlessly.

It is awfully strenuous, to perform magic without a wand, even if it is only an easy spell to be cast. So far, I’ve levitated books and small items, severed and mended pages of parchment, made Potter’s feet dance, disarmed him, frozen him, and made him ticklish. And he’s only eager to see more. And to learn how.

Unfortunately, my ability to perform wandless magic is only so extensive.

“I have some literature about wandless magic if you are interested,” I say as we take a break and lean back in our respective armchairs. “You also need to be able to clear your mind for it.”

As Potter’s excited grin fades noticeably, I give him an amused look. “That a problem?”

Potter lets out an irritated huff. “That’s putting it mildly…” He grumbles.

I bite back a grin. “So I’ve heard,” I say and give him a teasing smirk.

Potter narrows his eyes at me. “Yeah, okay, I’m bloody awful at it,” He says eventually, and a grin slowly spreads across his face. “Although, I remain to be convinced that my teacher was rubbish…” He continues sourly.

Knowing how Sev feels about Potter, and how difficult he is to work with even if he isn’t holding a grudge, I incline my head. “I might not use the exact wording, but I recognise your problem,” I merely say, and Potter shakes his head as he lets out a huff of laughter.

We spend the rest of the morning in the seating area, entertained by unimportant chit-chat, until McGonagall arrives to escort Potter back to the castle.

As soon as the green flames of the drawing room fireplace disappear, I call out for Kreacher, summoning it.

There’s a loud crack, and a sullen looking elf – my elf – appears at my feet. “Master Regulus summoned?” Kreacher grunts, looking as if it is torn between feeling grateful and morose.

I give the elf a small smile before I nod at it. “Yes. I need you to open the drawer in my bedside table.”

Kreacher gapes at me for a good while, its large eyes widening in terror, while it becomes frozen in fear. I give the elf a stony look, and it understands I’m not to be questioned.

A second later, Kreacher snaps its long fingers and disapparates.

* * *

**Hogwarts, April 6 th 1997**

I walk out from the Headmaster’s office with McGonagall moving briskly in front of me. Dumbledore’s nowhere in sight, yet again. Is he even in the castle?

As soon as we reach the Great Hall, I nod at my Head of House and head quickly towards Hermione and Ron, who are situated at the Gryffindor house table, a bit further from the handful of our housemates who have stayed in the school during Easter break.

“Harry!” Hermione says quietly, a bright smile on her face – a bit strained around the edges, and I can only assume she’s had an argument with Ron.

“Hey, mate,” Ron greets me, giving me a lopsided grin. “Guess who managed to Apparate?” He says, lifting his brows slightly.

“Really?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise. “That’s great, Ron!” I quickly continue, grinning at my friend and patting him on the back as I sit down next to him.

Ron rolls his eyes good naturedly. “Always the tone of surprise…” He mutters, and then eyes me more carefully. “What is it?”

The anxiousness and resoluteness must be readable from my expression. After last night, after Regulus told me about the rumours, and after he told me about his brother…I just knew I needed to do something. And fast. I need that memory. I need to destroy Voldemort. So, before I left Grimmauld Place today, I decided that I’d do it today. Use the Felix, like Ron suggested some weeks ago.

“Okay,” I say and glance around us. “I’m doing it. Tonight. Take the Felix,” I whisper and watch my friends intently.

Hermione lets out a small gasp while Ron’s hands twitch against the table.

“I think you’re doing the right thing, Harry,” Hermione says quickly, and Ron nods in agreement.

“Yeah, yeah. There’s something else you need to know…but not here,” I say and cringe inwardly as I notice McGonagall giving me a narrow-eyed look. “Later,” I grunt.

My friends seem to understand and swiftly move our discussion into non-secretive topics.

“WonWon!” A high-pitched sound yells some time later, and Ron actually flinches before turning to look at the approaching Lavender, a tense expression taking over his face.

Hermione and I share a subtle roll of our eyes. Ron is such a coward. He obviously doesn’t want to be with her anymore, but doesn’t have the bollocks to end it…

“Hey, Lavender,” Ron says steadily, while Lavender taps her foot and looks slightly frustrated.

“We were supposed to meet at the library, like, twenty minutes ago!” Lavender says and gives Ron a wounded look.

Ron clenches his jaw. “Yeah, sorry, I forgot. Shall we go then?” He asks, forcing a smile at her.

When Lavender merely gives him an inpatient lift of her brows, Ron stands up and grunts a resigned “later then,” to Hermione and me.

As soon as they are out of our hearing distance, Hermione scoffs. “I can’t believe him,” She says disbelievingly.

I shake my head. “Yeah.”

“Okay, so, what are you going to do? … _With Slughorn?_ ” Hermione asks, whispering the last part.

“I dunno,” I shrug. “I reckon I’ll take the potion later at night and then just…go to see him.”

Hermione nods slowly. “Okay. I think, just to be on the safe side, you should go right after dinner – just so you won’t get caught wandering the halls or anything.”

I give Hermione an incredulous look. “Hermione…I’m taking liquid luck. I doubt that I’m gonna be caught by anyone…” I say, and when Hermione merely purses her lips, I quickly continue. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it after dinner.”

* * *

Dinner comes and goes quickly, and after Hermione, Ron and I have vacated the empty boys’ dormitory, and after I’ve shared everything I learned about yesterday’s Order meeting with them, I dig the small bottle from my trunk and eye it cautiously.

There’s no time like the present…

I feel my hands trembling slightly as I unstopper the vial and take a deep breath before tipping it into my mouth, careful to take only a mouthful. If this is as valuable as we all believe, I know I’ll need it for other purposes later. Hermione and Ron sit tensely on my bed and watch me with alarmed looks, waiting as seconds go by.

Hermione lets out a deep breath. “How does it feel?” She asks, worry edged into her eyes.

Ron gives me a knowing grin. “It’s a great feeling when you take it. Like you can’t do anything wrong.”

Hermione gives him an incredulous look. “What are you talking about? You’ve never taken any!”

Ron shrugs offhandedly. “Yeah, but I thought I had, didn’t I? Same difference really…”

“Harry?” Hermione asks again, her voice barely a whisper.

The potion itself tasted rather sweet, like honeyed water. I frown as I feel nothing, and I’m about to say so, when suddenly an exciting sense of invincibleness courses through me, a powerful surge, making my insides glow with control, like I could do anything, like I could achieve everything.

Suddenly, getting the memory from Slughorn feels like a mundane task, like it could be done by merely snapping my fingers. I let out a small huff of breath and grin at my friends.

“I feel great! I feel brilliant!” I beam at them, my chest expanding with resoluteness. I know what I need to do. “I’m going to down to the kitchens.”

Ron and Hermione gape at me for a moment, and it really looks a bit funny. “W-What?” They both stammer, looking utterly bewildered by my plans.

“Harry, you were supposed to go to Slughorn’s office,” Ron says edgily, as both he and Hermione stand up quickly.

I nod slowly. “I know what I need to do. Don’t worry, mate.” I pat Ron on the shoulder before I collect my Invisibility Cloak from my school bag and throw it over me. “I’ll see you in a bit,” I say, cheerfully, and make my exit.

The common room is quiet, and there’s only Lavender there, waiting again impatiently. I pass her quietly and exit through the portrait hole, walking energetically towards the ground floor, towards the school kitchens.

I hum a soft tune under my breath as I walk through a door in the Entrance Hall and take the stairs downwards. As I reach the familiar painting of a bowl of fruit, situated in a brightly lit, broad stone basement corridor, I lift a hand to tickle the pear on the painting. Instantly, the pear starts to giggle and turns into a large green door handle, revealing the entrance to the Hogwarts kitchens.

I step quietly inside, into the enormous, high-ceilinged room, located right under the Great Hall, with matching set of house tables, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls, and a great brick fireplace at the other end. And then I spot Slughorn in the seating area at the fireplace, sipping wine and beaming at the elves that carry a large tray of different sorts of cakes and pastries onto the coffee table.

I move quickly closer, clearing my throat lightly as reach the seating area. “Professor! Good to see you!” I greet good-naturedly, beaming at the man in question.

Slughorn jumps slightly as he sees me. “Harry! You nearly gave me a fright!” He says, a bit breathless as he peers at me. “What brings you here, m’boy?” He asks warily and places his goblet on the table.

Wheels start to turn in my head, and I know exactly what to do. I give the Professor a meaningful look, as if I’m letting him in on some secret. “I suppose we both like to enjoy a little late-night snack, every now and then,” I say with a wink.

Slughorn chuckles and nods agreeably. “Right you are, Harry.”

“May I sit with you, professor, or would you prefer to be by yourself? I don’t mind, really,” I say politely, and Slughorn merely beams at me and gestures for me to sit into the armchair closest to him.

Slughorn lifts the bottle of wine and gives me a questioning look. “I have had it tested for poison,” he says with an assuring voice.

“Thanks,” I say with a nod, and then he flicks his wand and an empty goblet and plate appear on my side of the coffee table.

Slughorn waves his wand again to fill my goblet with wine. The Felix in my head tells me to be mindful of it, that I’m not allowed to drink much of it, and instead have to make sure that Slughorn’s goblet is never empty.

“So, what brings you down here, Harry, other than to enjoy a little late-night snack?” Slughorn asks as he lifts his cup to salute me before he takes a generous gulp from his goblet. I follow his lead and lift my cup, but only pretend to take a sip from it.

I hum thoughtfully, knowing that he’s still cautious of me, and probably suspects that I’m here merely for the memory. “Well, it has been a bit taxing lately, with everything happening in Hogwarts and in the Wizarding world…I suppose I just needed to relax a bit.”

Slughorn nods slowly. “Yes, you might be right…It _has_ been rather stressful for us teachers as well. At least, compared to my old days…” He says, watching the dancing fire with a reminiscent look.

“Were those days a lot different from today?” I ask softly.

There’s a short silence, and then Slughorn chuckles. “Well, I was mainly stressed out by a roguish quartet, always causing mischief when the teachers weren’t looking,” He says lightly, turning to look at me meaningfully.

“My father and his friends,” I say with a smile.

Slughorn nods at me, a wistful smile on his lips. “Your father was very talented, in almost anything he did,” He says kindly, but then I detect a small hint of amusement in his expression.

“Almost?” I ask with a small grin, and while Slughorn lets out a hearty laugh, I use the opportunity to fill his goblet.

After wiping tears of joy from his eyes, Slughorn fixes me a knowing look. “Your mother. She was a spitfire, a force of nature. One of the most talented witches I’ve seen brewing potions in my class. And one of the most kind-hearted persons I’ve known,” he says fondly, and then chuckles. “But she wasn’t fooled by your father, at first, at least…No, she gave back in kind to his teasing during the years, until…Well, I reckon, until they both grew up and fell in love,” Slughorn says with a grin and reaches out to grab a small pastry from the tray, and swallows it in one mouthful.

“She was in the Slug club?” I ask, feeling intrigued. Of course, I’d seen the photographs in Slughorn’s office, but he hasn’t really spoken about my mother earlier.

“Oh, yes! I mean, along with many other talented witches and wizards,” He mutters, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

I know I need to be careful, and not to bring her up…at least not yet. But at the same time, I can clearly see that she is a sore spot for him. “Who else? Was Sirius there?” I continue, speaking with a light tone.

Slughorn chortles, his double chin wavering. “No, Mr. Black seemed not to care about his connections as much as his brother did. Yes, Regulus was one of the students in my ‘collection’ if I might say so…Shame what happened to him…” He says with a pitiful look. “He was destined to become a great wizard…” He says, and empties his goblet with a large gulp, filling it immediately after.

Our conversation flows onward, and Slughorn, becoming expansive under the influence of the drink and by my interest regarding his selected students, happily jumps into a long explanation about various members of the Slug Club over the years.

Slughorn becomes so absorbed in his stories, that he fails to notice when I refill his wine bottle and goblet, performing the charms flawlessly without saying the incantation aloud.

An hour or so later, Slughorn is mumbling with a thick voice, reminiscing my parents again, telling me how great they were.

“I wish I’d known them,” I say softly, staring at the fire. “I wish I’d known them before they died…”

Slughorn represses a large belch. “Oh dear. Yes, that was…that was terrible what happened. Terrible…terrible…” He mumbles, filling his goblet and taking a long gulp. “I don’t suppose you remember it, Harry?” he asks quietly, squinting at me slightly.

I give him a sad smile. “No. I was only one when it happened…But I’ve found out pretty much what happened since. My dad died first. Did you know that?” I ask, looking at him intently.

“I — I didn’t,” Slughorn stammers, looking surprised.

“Yeah…Voldemort murdered him and then stepped over his body towards my mum,” I explain plainly.

Slughorn shudders to the name, but doesn’t avert his eyes from mine.

“He told her to get out of the way,” I say blankly, knowing what I need to say to break him. “He told me – Voldemort told me – that she needn’t have died. That he only wanted me. She could have run,” I say, not trying to hide the sadness crossing my expression.

“Oh dear,” Slughorn whispers, looking horrified. “She could have…she needn’t…that’s awful…”

“It is, isn’t it?” I say quietly, watching Slughorn closely. “But she didn’t move. Dad was already dead, but she didn’t want me to go too. She tried to plead with Voldemort…but he just laughed at her.”

“T-That’s enough!” Slughorn says suddenly, hiccoughing slightly. “Really, my dear boy, enough…I’m an old man…And I don’t need to hear…I don’t want to hear –”

“I forgot,” I interrupt him, a kind smile on my lips. “You liked her, didn’t you?”

“Liked her?” Slughorn repeats, his eyes glassy from the wine and sadness. “I don’t imagine anyone who met her wouldn’t have liked her. Like I said, one of the most kind-hearted persons I’ve known. She was so brave. And very funny…It was the most horrible thing…”

“But you won’t help her son,” I say curtly. “She gave me her life, but you won’t give me a memory.”

A tear escapes from the corner of Slughorn’s eye and I don’t move my gaze away. And neither does he.

“Don’t say that,” he mumbles. “It isn’t a question…If it were to help you, of course – but no purpose can be served…”

“It can,” I say firmly. “Dumbledore needs information. I need information.”

I know I need to give him more. And I know he will not remember our conversation in the morning, given his state of inebriation. I give him a serious look. “I am the Chosen One. I have to kill him. I need that memory,” I whisper grimly.

Slughorn gasps, and stutters, “Y-You are the Chosen One?”

“Of course I am,” I say coolly, watching him expectantly.

“But then…my dear boy…you’re asking a great deal. You’re asking me, in fact, to aid you in your attempt to destroy – “

“You don’t want to get rid of the wizard who killed Lily Evans?” I interrupt him, my voice hard.

Slughorn seems so shrink in his seat. “Harry, Harry, of course I do, but —”

“You’re scared that he’ll find out you helped me?” I ask quickly, and it is evident that we both know it to be true, when Slughorn merely stays quiet and stares at me with an alarmed look.

“Be brave like my mother, Professor,” I say with a pleading look.

Slughorn shudders and a couple of tears trickle down his plump cheeks. “I am not proud…I am ashamed of what — of what that memory shows,” he whispers thickly. “I think I may have done great damage that day.”

I nod slowly. “You’d cancel out anything you did by giving me the memory,” I say, my voice still firm while my eyes beseech him. “It would be a very brave and noble thing to do.”

There’s a long silence, and only the sound of the fire crackling fills the air around us. I briefly wonder where all the house-elves have gone, but keep my eyes fixated on him. Then, very slowly, Slughorn puts his hand into his sleeve and pulls out his wand. He fishes out a small, empty bottle from the pocket in his robes.

Time seems to go slower and I hold my breath when scared eyes gaze into mine before Slughorn brings his wand to his temple, pulling it out slowly, extracting a long, silver thread of memory, and then lowering it into the bottle. Hands quivering, Slughorn reaches out and gives me the stoppered bottle.

I give him a grateful look. “Thank you very much, Professor.”

“You’re a good boy, Harry,” Slughorn says with a teary voice. “And you’ve got her eyes…Just…don’t think too badly of me once you’ve seen it,” he whispers dejectedly.

“I won’t. I promise,” I say quietly, and before I’ve even finished my sentence, Slughorn is passed out in his armchair.

I let out a deep sigh, brushing the angry tears away from my eyes, as feelings of bitterness and unfairness find their way back to my mind. The Felix is wearing off.

I glance at the large timepiece on the wall as I tuck away the small bottle of memory. It is nine in the evening. It is not too late to meet with Dumbledore and show him my achievement. The faster I get the memory to him, the better. I glance at Slughorn, who is snoring peacefully in the armchair, and then take my leave.

* * *

Nearly sprinting towards the third floor, thrilled that the password to the gargoyle is the same as it was the last time I visited the Headmaster, I take two steps at a time in the moving stone staircase, reaching the top very quickly, and a little out of breath.

I knock sharply into the double wooden door, hoping that the Headmaster has returned to the school, as I haven’t seen him in a couple of days. There’s a small moment, and then, I hear a quiet ‘enter’.

Feeling anxious, I push through the doors, only to freeze in place.

Dumbledore’s there, standing behind his desk, looking weary and severe.

With Regulus. He is standing on the other side of the Headmaster’s desk.

They are both watching me curiously.

“Wh –“

“Harry. To what do we owe this pleasure?” Dumbledore says attentively.

“Sir, I’ve…” I mumble, glancing at Regulus and then back to Dumbledore. “I’ve got it,” I say pointedly, knowing that Dumbledore will understand immediately what I’m talking about.

I do trust Regulus, and I want to tell him everything, but…for some reason, I feel like I need to have the Headmaster’s approval first.

Dumbledore stares at me behind his half-moon spectacles, looking rather stunned for a moment. Regulus’s eyes flicker over my face but he says nothing.

Then Dumbledore smiles brightly. “Harry, this is spectacular news! Very well done indeed! I knew you could do it!”

I reply to his smile, and then Regulus clears his throat.

Dumbledore turns towards him, his smile shrinking slightly but not disappearing. “And now, I believe we have in our hands another piece of the puzzle,” he says mysteriously and gives Regulus a scrutinising look.

“Um, sir?” I ask hesitantly, not wanting to intrude, but still very, very curious to hear what Regulus is doing here.

Dumbledore gestures at the two armchairs facing his desk. “Please, sit. Both of you,” He says kindly, and takes his own seat before steepling his fingers on his desk, excitement crossing his features.

As soon as both Regulus and I have taken our seats – and exchanged a pair of dubious looks – Dumbledore speaks.

“I believe we have some memories to examine.”


	24. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diving into memories...thank you for reading!

**Chapter 24: Time**

**Hogwarts, April 6 th 1997**

“I believe we have some memories to examine,” The Headmaster says, something close to anticipation in his voice. “Perhaps we could, if you may, Mr. Black, start with yours,” he continues, his sharp eyes flickering to mine as he speaks.

There’s a short silence, and I can feel Potter frowning at me even without looking at him.

“Mine?” I ask blankly, already having an inkling about what he is asking.

Dumbledore nods, a small smile on his lips. “Am I correct to assume that there is more to the story regarding your arrival into this time than you let on, when I briefly looked into your mind nearly two years ago?”

I nod slowly at him. “Yes,” I merely say, and glance at Potter, who stares at me in confusion, before I turn back to the Headmaster. “You wish to look at my memories?”

Dumbledore beams. “Precisely.” Although, I think I can detect a hint of sympathy in his features as he evidently sees my hardening jaw.

I came here with the intention of explaining everything to him. Explaining what I have learned about the Dark Lord, what had happened in the cave, and why had I kept everything from him until now. But this – this is something I hadn’t expected. What the Headmaster is asking, is for me to relive one of the worst events of my life and sharing it with him. And apparently, with Potter.

I could say no. I could refuse. But I now know it wouldn’t be enough to gain his trust. And if I wasn’t bothered by someone else seeing me at my weakest, I would send the Headmaster and by the (unfortunate) extension, Potter, to view them by themselves. But I am, so I know I will need to accompany them.

After a short moment I incline my head and will myself to stay indifferent. To keep the mask in place. “So be it.” I say quietly, keeping my eyes at the Headmaster as I draw up my wand and bring it to my temple, focusing on the memory. The dark, vast cave, the unnerving silence. The black, bottomless lake, its surface still and unmoving until it was not. The greenish light in the middle of the cave, reflecting from widened, large eyes, filled with horror. The emerald liquid and what lay in its depths. The means to reach it.

The pain. The terror. The agony.

And the dead. All of them.

There’s pity in Dumbledore’s eyes as the Headmaster summons a large stone basin from a corner cabinet and places it on the table between us, moments before the silvery thread breaks and flows from the tip of my wand.

I stand up, my eyes fixated on the basin as I bring my wand upon it and lower the memory into it. Instantly the silvery substance begins to swirl, shimmering slightly.

The Headmaster clears his throat. Potter stays silent as he too stands up and takes a step closer to the table.

“After you,” Dumbledore says quietly.

I turn my gaze to Potter, and his green eyes are filled with anticipation as he watches me. Should I warn him? Should I tell him what to expect? As I look at him silently, worry and alarm starts to take place in his features.

I presume he knows to expect…something unpleasant.

Potter’s hand twitches, moving an inch towards me, and I quickly tear my gaze away and force my focus back to the Pensieve. I take a steadying breath as I touch the contents of it with the tip of my wand.

And then I’m falling through the spinning darkness.

It’s an eerie sight, watching the events to occur. Watching yourself to experience it. It is quite different than just thinking about it. I stare at my past self, at the scene ahead, but my head is empty; everything is sealed behind the tight walls of my mind. Nevertheless, I remember, I _know_ exactly what it felt like, how utterly terrified I was. How unbearable the pain was.

I watch stonily as my past self gives orders to my Elf, commanding it to force the potion down my throat if necessary, to disapparate with the object if it comes to it, saving itself if it is threatened. I watch as I drink from the goblet filled with green, shimmering potion, again and again, until I’m screaming in anguish.

Potter gasps and both him and the Headmaster stare at the past me with horror and complete surprise. Occasionally, I can feel their worried gazes flickering towards me, the present me, that is, but I keep my eyes on the scene.

It isn’t until my past self is slumping to the rocks, seemingly unconscious, when the barriers of my mind start to crumble, and dread starts to slowly fill me. I watch as Kreacher wails upon my body, and then, after a short moment, it seems to remember its orders. The Elf snatches the locket from the bottom of the basin, and turns back to me. Only to find my past self slowly crawling towards the lake, fingernails scraping the hard stone as silent sobs fill the still air of the cave.

I can feel myself shivering as I watch the creatures rising from the lake, an army of Inferi, and Kreacher trying to desperately pull the past me away from them, trying to disapparate. But it can’t. Not with me.

Potter lets out a strained sound next to me as we watch my past self to order Kreacher to leave without me, to do as we had agreed and tell no one about it.

Kreacher struggles with the direct command, for the first time in my life. I remember how it felt to look at its grief-stricken eyes for one last time before it disapparated. I remember thinking what my brother would do, how he would act if our situations were reversed. How brave he would be, how he would face death with his head held high. I remember trying to be like him.

Potter’s hand brushes mine, tentatively, and I grab it hard, trying to anchor myself, trying to brush off the flicker of hopelessness and desolation I remember feeling right before the end. Right before the dead corpses reached me. Right before I lost consciousness.

The memory ends and then we are back in present time, back in the Headmaster’s office.

A second later, a chair tumbles backwards as Potter marches up to me and pulls me into a tight embrace, cursing under his breath simultaneously.

“Shit…I’m – _Merlin_ ,” Potter mumbles with an uneven voice, his words muffled by my hair, while I stand rigidly in place.

My eyes are stinging slightly, and I’m surprised by the feeling. It has been a long time since I’ve felt like that. I blink quickly, clearing my mind before I glance at the Headmaster.

Dumbledore’s standing at the window, gazing into the dark evening, his back to us.

Potter is breathing heavily against my neck, as if trying to calm himself. I pull back slightly, locking my eyes with his, and give him a reassuring look. “It’s fine. I’m fine now,” I say almost inaudibly, so that only he can hear me.

His face is scrunched up with confusion and worry. “What were you doing down there? Did you – did you know what would happen?” He asks, his voice wavering slightly, his tone desperate as his eyes travel across my face, trying to understand what he’d just witnessed.

I clear my throat and pull away from him. “You’ll find out soon enough,” I say aloofly, squeezing his arm before taking a step back to my seat.

Potter stays in place, staring at me with a mixed look of bewilderment and frustration, and before he has a chance to speak, before he can demand an explanation, Dumbledore turns back to us, a grim look in his eyes.

“I understand it must have been difficult to relive those memories, Mr. Black,” he says gravely. “And I hope that you know how grateful I am that you did share them with us,” he continues, before taking his seat behind his desk, eyeing me sincerely.

I sit down in my armchair and give him a curt nod.

“But – but what was the point of it? What difference did it make, to see him – to see that?” Potter asks exasperatedly, stumbling slightly in his words, looking somewhat horrified.

Dumbledore gives Potter a strained smile, “It did make a difference, I assure you, it did. Everything will make more sense after we look at the other memory. If you may, Harry?” he says, levelling Potter with a pointed look.

Potter frowns at the Headmaster for a moment before he lets out a weary sigh and pulls out a small flask, with silvery substance twirling inside of it. He clenches his jaw as he steps forward and tips the contents into the Pensieve.

“This is a memory of Professor Slughorn, some fifty years ago,” Dumbledore explains, studying me as he speaks. “I had procured a similar memory from him, one we have watched with Harry earlier this year, but unfortunately, it had been tampered with.”

“By whom?” I ask, feeling slightly uncomfortable. I glance at Potter, who merely gives me a determined look.

Dumbledore smiles. “Professor Slughorn.”

I nod slowly. “He wanted to hide something.” I say, and look at the Headmaster expectantly. I remember how the Potions professor always saw it important to give the perfect appearance of himself.

“Indeed. And now, as Harry has succeeded in the task I gave him; to acquire the original memory from Horace, I think we should see exactly what it was,” the Headmaster says, and gives Potter and me an encouraging look before he gestures for us to inspect the memory.

I know that fifty-odd years ago, the Dark Lord had attended Hogwarts. I presume we are about to see him as a student.

And once again, I tumble through the darkness. As I find myself in a familiar office, and see the familiar – albeit younger – Potions professor sitting in a comfortable looking armchair, a glass of wine in one hand, while the other pushes a handful of crystallised pineapple into his mouth, I almost smile. The man really hasn’t changed a bit.

My amusement quickly vanishes as I look over the scattering of students surrounding Slughorn, and see _him_. The Dark Lord. He looks…young. Somewhat carefree – and innocent. Nothing like he was when I met him. But there is still something I recognise in his features…almost an imperceptible hint of that vicious man I began to loathe the moment I took his mark.

Then the Dark Lord’s past self speaks, making me cringe with discomfort. It is too familiar.

“Sir, is it true that Professor Merrythought is retiring?”

“Tom, Tom…if I knew, I couldn’t tell you,” The Potions professor says lightly, somewhat scolding him. “I must say, I’d like to know where you get your information, boy, more knowledgeable than half the staff, you are...”

Tom…I know that the Dark Lord was Tom Riddle in his youth. Not many of us – of them, his followers knew that.

In the memory, the boy – Tom Riddle, gives a pleased smile at the professor, while the other students laugh admiringly at their comrade.

“What with your uncanny ability to know things you shouldn’t, and your careful flattery of the people who matter — thank you for the pineapple, by the way, you’re quite right, it is my favourite. I confidently expect you to rise to Minister for Magic within twenty years. Fifteen, if you keep sending me pineapple. I do have excellent contacts at the Ministry,” The professor says with amusement twinkling in his eyes, and while the other students chuckle, I inspect closely at Tom Riddle’s features as he looks even more pleased of himself.

Their conversation goes on, until a small golden clock on the professor’s desk chimes. The Potions professor then orders the students to their beds, and one by one, they leave. All but one.

“Look sharp, Tom, you don’t want to be caught out of bed out of hours, and you are a prefect – ”

“Sir, I wanted to ask you something.” The Dark Lord – Tom Riddle – interrupts with an apologising smile.

Slughorn looks surprised, but then nods at his student, “Ask away, then, m’boy, ask away.”

Tom Riddle’s eyes sharpen slightly. “Sir, I wondered what you know about…about Horcruxes?”

My eyes widen slightly, and what the hell? Surely the Dark Lord hasn’t received his knowledge from a Hogwarts’ Professor? I quickly walk closer, to examine the pair more carefully, ignoring the curious looks Potter and Dumbledore throw at my direction.

Professor Slughorn stares at Tom Riddle, a wary look in his eyes. “Project for Defence Against the Dark Arts, is it?” He asks, but his voice betrays him. It is certain that the professor knows exactly what is and what is not included in the Defence curriculum.

Tom Riddle gives the Potions professor a bashful look. “Not exactly, sir. I came across the term while reading and I didn’t fully understand it.”

Slughorn seems to be contemplating his answer for a bit. “No…well…you’d be hard pushed to find a book at Hogwarts that’ll give you details on Horcruxes, Tom, that’s very Dark stuff, very Dark indeed,” he says finally.

Tom Riddle inclines his head in agreement. “But you obviously know all about them, sir? I mean, a wizard like you — sorry, I mean, if you can’t tell me, obviously — I just knew if anyone could tell me, you could — so I just thought I’d…“

It is apparent that Tom Riddle knows already how to use people, how to have someone in the palm of his hand. He knows exactly what to say and how to say it to wield Slughorn. The professor’s expression changes into a hesitant one, and I know that Tom Riddle has succeeded, even without seeing it in his eyes.

“Well…” Slughorn says, his eyes fixated on his box of crystallized pineapple, “…well, it can’t hurt to give you an overview, of course. Just so that you understand the term. A Horcrux is the word used for an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul.”

“I don’t quite understand how that works, though, sir,” Tom Riddle says, his voice innocent, but his eyes, his eyes flashing with sharpness and excitement when the professor does not look at him.

What an oaf...How can he not see past the charm and flattery, past the potential success of a student?

“Well, you split your soul, you see,” Slughorn says, glancing at Tom Riddle, “and hide part of it in an object outside the body. Then, even if one’s body is attacked or destroyed, one cannot die, for part of the soul remains earthbound and undamaged. But of course, existence in such a form…” Slughorn’s voice trails off as he grimaces at the thought. “…few would want it, Tom, very few. Death would be preferable.”

Tom Riddle looks more and more like the man I met and once served, as hunger and greed fill his expression. I suppress a shiver as his eyes flash with something dark. “How do you split your soul?”

The Potions professor looks uncomfortable. “Well…you must understand that the soul is supposed to remain intact and whole. Splitting it is an act of violation, it is against nature,” he says, a frown appearing between his brows.

“But how do you do it?” Tom Riddle asks quietly, his voice soft, even thought the intent in his eyes is evident.

Slughorn swallows hard. “By an act of evil — the supreme act of evil. By committing murder. Killing will rip the soul apart. The wizard intent upon creating a Horcrux would use the damage to his advantage: He would encase the torn portion —”

“Encase? But how — ?”

“There is a spell, do not ask me, I don’t know!” Slughorn says sharply, shaking his head as he stares at his student with widened eyes. “Do I look as though I have tried it — do I look like a killer?” He stammers, looking somewhat horrified.

“No, sir, of course not,” Tom Riddle says quickly, an apologising look in his eyes. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to offend…”

Slughorn lets out a deep breath. “Not at all, not at all, not offended,” he says weakly. “It is natural to feel some curiosity about these things. Wizards of a certain calibre have always been drawn to that aspect of magic…”

“Yes, sir,” Tom Riddle says quietly. “What I don’t understand, though — just out of curiosity — I mean, would one Horcrux be much use? Can you only split your soul once? Wouldn’t it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces, I mean, for instance, isn’t seven the most powerfully magical number, wouldn’t seven — ?”

My blood runs cold. What in the name of _fucking_ Merlin? No… _It can’t be_. It can’t fucking be…

Images of the cave run in my head, spinning, mixing with whispered conversations behind masks, with a cold voice, _his_ voice, boasting how he has pushed the boundaries of magic further than anyone ever has…

“Merlin’s beard, Tom!” Slughorn yells, interrupting my internal turmoil. “Seven! Isn’t it bad enough to think of killing one person? And in any case…bad enough to divide the soul…but to rip it into seven pieces…”

Slughorn stares at Tom Riddle with his eyes widened in shock, as if he is deeply regretting their conversation. “Of course,” the professor then says quietly, “this is all hypothetical, what we’re discussing, isn’t it? All academic…”

 _Give me a fucking break…_ I glance at Potter as Tom Riddle quickly assures his professor. Potter’s expression is something between livid and worried. I move my gaze to Dumbledore as the Potion’s professor asks Tom Riddle to keep his mouth shut; the Headmaster stares at the scene stonily, only a small furrow between his brows.

I give the younger version of the Dark Lord a final, searching glance, and swallow down the unpleasant feeling rising in my throat as I see how his face fills with some kind of distorted, cold happiness. He has what he wanted. He received the information he needed. And the Potions professor, utterly unaware, has helped one the most dangerous wizards there is to become immortal.

“Thank you, Harry, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore says quietly. “Let us go…”

Moments after we land back in the Headmaster’s office, and my mind is reeling. The Dark Lord did not intend to create only one Horcrux, but several…He intended to divide his soul into seven pieces.

...Did he succeed in it? Has he truly created six Horcruxes?

I stand in place, in the middle of the circular office, unable to suppress the feelings of failure and shock. What I did, what I thought I would accomplish, was…foolish. Of course the Dark Lord would make sure there would be more safeguards than merely one. How in the name of Salazar did I not see it?

“Mr. Black?” Dumbledore says softly.

I move my gaze towards him, and only then notice that both him and Potter are back in their seats, both watching me attentively.

I swallow down the bitter thoughts swirling in my head. “There’s more than one?” I ask quietly, my voice muted, and even though I already know it to be true, someone fucking may as well say it to me.

Dumbledore inclines his head, and there’s something close to triumph in his eyes before it is replaced with sympathy. “I’m afraid so,” he says gravely.

Potter gapes at me. “You knew?” He asks, surprise written all over his features. “All this time, you knew and you didn’t say anything?” He asks quickly, his voice becoming sharp, accusing, as a deep frown takes place between his brows.

“Harry…” Dumbledore says, his expression kind, but a hint of warning in his voice. He turns to me, and adds, “Please, sit, Mr. Black.”

Feeling resigned, feeling weary about it all, I force myself to move towards the others and take the seat next to Potter.

The Headmaster crosses his fingers at his table. “I understand your hesitance, Mr. Black. Considering that the subject is rather…sensitive, I think the matter is too dangerous to be confided to people you might not fully trust. But, as I said before, I hope that you know how grateful I am that you did share it with us today,” he says, and I give him a nod.

“As for the memory we saw – I have been hoping for this piece of evidence for a very long time,” Dumbledore says after a short silence. “It confirms the theory on which I have been working, it tells me that I am right, and also how very far there is still to go…but…it also tells how much we have accomplished already.”

I stare quietly at the Headmaster as Potter speaks. “What do you mean? What have we accomplished? Did he actually make one? A Horcrux?” He asks, his voice filled with confusion.

In any other situation, I would definitely point out how slowly Potter comprehends the details given to him.

I share a blank look with the Headmaster, before he answers. “You heard Voldemort. What he particularly wanted from Horace was an opinion on what would happen to the wizard who created more than one Horcrux, what would happen to the wizard so determined to evade death that he would be prepared to murder many times, rip his soul repeatedly, so as to store it in many, separately concealed Horcruxes. No book would have given him that information. As far as I know — as far, I am sure, as Voldemort knew — no wizard had ever done more than tear his soul in two.”

There’s a small pause in his speech as he seems to be contemplating his words. “Four years ago, I received what I considered certain proof that Voldemort had split his soul,” Dumbledore continues.

“What – ” I say, but I’m interrupted as Potter speaks the same time.

“ – Where? How?” Potter asks hastily, glancing at me, still a hint of wariness in his eyes.

Dumbledore gives us both a calm look. “You handed it to me, Harry. The diary, Riddle’s diary, the one giving instructions on how to reopen the Chamber of Secrets.”

I’m taken by surprise, and then hit with a memory.

_‘Voldemort possessed a friend of mine with his old diary, opened the Chamber of Secrets in Hogwarts with her help and unleashed a Basilisk to prey on Muggleborns.’_

It seems that Potter has had one as well…A diary so powerful that it could open the Chamber of Secrets and set free a Basilisk to finish Salazar Slytherin’s work. Why did I not realise it then? My eyes move between Potter and the Headmaster expectantly, waiting for one of them to explain more.

“I don’t understand, sir,” Potter says, gnawing the inside of his cheek anxiously.

“Well, although I did not see the Riddle who came out of the diary, what you described to me was a phenomenon I had never witnessed. A mere memory starting to act and think for itself? A mere memory, sapping the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen? No, something much more sinister had lived inside that book…a fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux. But this raised as many questions as it answered. What intrigued and alarmed me most was that that diary had been intended as a weapon as much as a safeguard.”

“What?” I ask quietly. It seems odd for the Dark Lord to part with one of his most priced possessions, as it most likely wasn’t a simple task to create them.

The Headmaster gives a small nod. “Well, it worked as a Horcrux is supposed to work — in other words, the fragment of soul concealed inside it was kept safe and had undoubtedly played its part in preventing the death of its owner. But there could be no doubt that Riddle really wanted that diary read, wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess somebody else, so that Slytherin’s monster would be unleashed again.”

…And if Potter hadn’t ended the monster – _he fucking killed a basilisk_ , for Merlin’s sake – what would be left of Hogwarts now?

“What happened to the diary?” I ask, after clearing the sudden tightness away from my throat.

“I destroyed it,” Potter says quietly, and as I turn to look at him in utter disbelief, he gives me a searching look. “I stabbed it with a basilisk fang.”

I blink at him, all the research I’ve done in the nearly past two years whirling in my mind, and there hasn’t been anything about it, I’m sure of it. But it makes sense. The King of Serpents has immense powers, and its venom is rumoured to be an extremely poisonous substance, one of the few poisons that are not curable by Bezoars. It probably would be able to damage the object containing the soul fragment to a point beyond any and all physical or magical repair…

“The venom…” I mutter, almost inaudibly, and watch Potter nod in confirmation.

All this time, the solution has been at Hogwarts. All that research. All of it has been for nothing. I don’t even try to suppress the feelings of bitterness, anger and regret when they finally find their way into my consciousness and taint my every thought.

“Quite correct,” the Headmaster says, evidently taking note of my disgruntlement and gives me an understanding look before he continues, “And the careless way in which Voldemort regarded this Horcrux seemed most ominous to me. It suggested that he must have made — or had been planning to make — more Horcruxes, so that the loss of his first would not be so detrimental. I did not wish to believe it, but nothing else seemed to make sense. Then you, Harry, told me, two years later, that on the night that Voldemort returned to his body, he made a most illuminating and alarming statement to his Death Eaters. ‘I who have gone further than anybody along the path that leads to immortality’,” Dumbledore explains, and I will myself not to twitch to the words, as I can almost hear them in my head, only, they are spoken with the cold, malicious voice belonging to the Dark Lord.

Dumbledore continues after a small moment, looking at Potter, “That was what you told me he said. ‘Further than anybody!’ And I thought I knew what that meant, though the Death Eaters did not. Well…not all of them, at least,” He says and gives me a furtive look.

I merely stare blankly back.

“I believe he was referring to his Horcruxes, Horcruxes in the plural, which I don’t believe any other wizard has ever had. Yet it fitted: Lord Voldemort has seemed to grow less human with the passing years, and the transformation he had undergone seemed to me to be only explainable if his soul was mutilated beyond the realms of what we might call ‘usual evil’…”

That explains a lot. Although, I thought only the one Horcrux had been the reason for his transformation. Potter asks about a Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance – a stone with astonishing powers, one of which that produces an Elixir that makes the drinker immortal.

Dumbledore looks thoughtful. “I am convinced that he intended to continue to rely on his Horcruxes. He would need nothing more, if only he could regain a human form. He was already immortal, you see…or as close to immortal as any man can be. And we all heard him; ‘ _Wouldn’t it be better, make you stronger, to have your soul in more pieces…isn’t seven the most powerfully magical number_.’ Yes, I think the idea of a seven-part soul would greatly appeal to Lord Voldemort,” the Headmaster says.

Of course it would…the Dark Lord is many things, but meagre is not one of them.

“He made seven Horcruxes?” Potter gasps, his voice rising. “But they could be anywhere in the world — hidden — buried or invisible —”

The Headmaster lifts a calming hand and Potter becomes quiet. “I am glad to see you appreciate the magnitude of the problem. But firstly, no, Harry, not seven Horcruxes: six. The seventh part of his soul, however maimed, resides inside his regenerated body. That was the part of him that lived a spectral existence for so many years during his exile; without that, he has no self at all. That seventh piece of soul will be the last that anybody wishing to kill Voldemort must attack — the piece that lives in his body.”

Potter gives the Headmaster an incredulous look. “Fine, six Horcruxes, then. How are we supposed to find them?” He asks with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

“You are forgetting…you have already destroyed one of them. And I have destroyed another,” the Headmaster says simply.

“You have?” I ask quickly. Both Potter and I watch the Headmaster curiously.

“Yes indeed,” Dumbledore says, lifting up his blackened hand. “I’m afraid we need to fill you in some of the details we have been discussing with Harry during the past year, Mr. Black, but after a quite immense research regarding Voldemort’s past life, I was fortunate enough to stumble across a ring that once belonged to the Gaunts. To Voldemort’s relatives,” he explains, and then glances at his withered hand. “What I did not foresee, was that there was a terrible curse placed upon it. And without Professor Snape’s quick reaction and exceptional skill, I wouldn’t be now here to tell you about any of it.”

“Severus…Severus knows?” I ask carefully.

Dumbledore shakes his head slightly. “No, he does not know the full extent of the events. I am confident that the only people who know about the Horcruxes, besides Lord Voldemort, are now sitting in this room.”

“And the ring…it is destroyed?” I ask slowly.

“Yes.” Dumbledore says. “As is the diary.”

“But there are still four left! And they could be anything, couldn’t they?” Potter asks hastily, looking a bit desperate.

Dumbledore’s eyes flicker to mine before he gives Potter an obscure look. “Ah, indeed they could, but as we learned only moments ago, there is one more that Mr. Black is undoubtedly aware of,” He says and turns to look at me expectantly.

Potter whirls towards me, a small frown of confusion between his brows before his eyes fill with realisation. “The cave? There was something? The…the locket! The Slytherin locket! Kreacher had it, didn’t it?” He asks urgently, the betrayal in his eyes long since vanished, replaced by excitement and intent. “Where is it now? Is it destroyed?” He adds after taking a quick breath.

I’m surprised that he knew about the locket once belonging to Slytherin, but I assume it is one of those ‘details’ the Headmaster and Potter have discussed before.

“No. But I have it.”

* * *

After a long discussion, and a long explanation, I’ve learned many things about the Dark Lord’s past. We’ve come to the presumption that there are three remaining Horcruxes to be found, and four to be destroyed. Salazar Slytherin's locket, Helga Hufflepuff’s cup, the Dark Lord’s pet snake Nagini, and the fourth object, supposedly something that has perhaps belonged once to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw.

“Now…” The Headmaster says after a short silence, his eyes fixed to mine. “Seeing as you have brought the object with you to our meeting, would it be possible for us to examine it?” He asks, a kind, and…knowing look in his eyes.

My lips twitch involuntarily. Of course he knows I brought it. I briefly wonder if going through my memories was truly necessary, but…at least my intentions are now clear to everyone.

Potter gapes at me. “You – you have it with you?”

I give Potter a grim look as I pull out my wand and wave it over the pocket of my robes. A small box emerges from it, floating slowly towards the table and then landing softly in the middle of it. I flick my wand once more and the box opens, revealing a heavy golden locket, engraved with an ornate, serpentine S – Salazar Slytherin’s mark.

“ _Merlin_ …” Potter whispers, as he stares at the locket, green eyes blown wide. “I can…I can feel it,” he says, grimacing.

The Headmaster’s eyes narrow at Potter for a moment before he hums thoughtfully. “Magic always leaves traces, and when it is something this dark, this evil…I presume most people would feel it,” He says, almost expressionlessly. He then levels me with a searching look. “You have tried to destroy it?” He asks, even though it sounds more like a statement.

I give him a small nod. “I was…quite unsuccessful,” I say blankly, forcing the memories of the incident to stay hidden in the furthest corner of my mind.

The Headmaster’s eyes move over my face, until his gaze flickers to my left forearm.

“What?” Potter asks sharply, following the Headmaster’s gaze. “What happened?” He prompts.

There’s a short silence as I contemplate my answer.

“It seems that the Dark Lord’s mark holds features I had not anticipated. There is a possibility that I may be unable to destroy a Horcrux,” I say, rather stiffly.

“W-What?” Potter stammers, and then, for once in his life, he actually grasps something when there really is no need to. “Show me.”

I give him an exasperated look, and when both he and the Headmaster stare at me silently, the former with defiance, and the latter with a hint of curiosity, I let out a sharp huff of breath and pull my sleeve up.

Potter lets out a horrified sound while Dumbledore’s eyes widen with surprise.

“But…I don’t understand,” Potter says, his voice slightly thick as his eyes keep drifting down to my arm, even as I draw my sleeve back down. “If you knew you couldn’t destroy it, why did you…or were you still going to –“ he mutters, and then realisation hits him, “ – You were, weren’t you? You were still planning to destroy it?” Potter demands sharply.

“Yes. And I still intend to,” I say darkly, speaking to the Headmaster.

Dumbledore shakes his head to Potter, who is undoubtedly in the process of disagreeing.

Potter then huffs loudly. “I want in. I want to get rid of it. Of them. I need to get rid of them,” He says forcefully.

And to my ultimate surprise, the Headmaster merely gives Potter a thin smile before he nods. “Yes. I think you have earned that right.”

As Potter gives the Headmaster a surprised but pleased look, I want to point out how audacious that is, letting him participate in something so dangerous. Potter is still a student, and even if he has fought the Dark Lord, and has faced many dangers, and even if he is the one who needs to be the end of _him,_ shouldn’t the boy be kept out of harm’s way until that moment? Shouldn’t he be trained to protect himself, preferably in a safe environment?

But I say nothing. I say nothing, because there’s fire in those bright green eyes, unwavering resoluteness, and I know that any objecting word would be pointless.

The Headmaster seems to guess my line of thought, and his mouth twitches slightly before he clears his throat and levels us with a serious look. “I suggest we form a plan to destroy the locket,” he says and glances at the artefact on the table. “As the school is unfortunately understaffed at this moment, I propose we will gather in two weeks’ time to carry out the plan.”

And another hour passes by as we discuss the details; the means to destroy the Horcrux – apparently Potter had slayed the Slytherin beast with a sword; a relic that once belonged to Gryffindor, and what now carries the powers of the snake venom. The suitable place where we will execute the plan – which is decided to be an uninhabited area outside of school borders, on the other side of the Forbidden Forest, far away from the village of Hogsmeade, and Hogwarts. We also decide to leave the Horcrux with Dumbledore as he will most likely be the one of us to actually destroy the object. At least I hope he will.

It is pitch dark outside when our conversation reaches to its end. I assume it is close to midnight.

“Now, as I believe we have successfully considered all the necessary aspects regarding our plan, I must insist that we end this meeting, so that we may all enjoy a good night’s rest before the chores of the next morning,” Dumbledore says, looking somewhat tired as he gives Potter and me a small smile.

Potter nods obediently, evidently taking note of the lateness of the hour, and stands up. He gives me an incomprehensible look and seems to hesitate.

The Headmaster clears his throat quietly. “I was planning to retreat to my quarters for a little while before closing the floo connection,” he says airily, a meaningful look in his eyes as he peers at us over his half-moon spectacles.

Then, without another word, the Headmaster tips his head as if to wish a good night. He turns and makes his way to the door in the wall behind his desk, and disappears through it.

There’s a silence, and both Potter and I blink at each other.

“That was…” Potter mutters, an amused frown taking over his features as he glances at the door the Headmaster disappeared trough. “Think he knows what we’d do?” He asks, looking a bit bothered.

My lips curve slightly upwards. “Oh? We’re about to do something?” I ask quietly, feigning surprise even as I walk closer to him.

Potter stays silent for a moment, his eyes moving across my face, darkening a notch. Then he leans towards me, grasping the back of my head and pulling me close for a lingering kiss.

As the kiss ends, moments later, Potter’s eyes are closed but he stays where he is, his breath ghosting against my lips. “Something I wanted to do since this morning…” He murmurs.

I give him a smile when he peers at me between his lashes. “The feeling might be mutual,” I say with a low voice, and Potter lets out a quiet snort.

“Might?” He asks, pulling back a bit, a grin spreading across his face.

Truthfully, it’s not even close to what I have wanted to do since morning, or since last night. But as we are situated in the middle of the Headmaster’s office, surrounded by a wall filled with portraits, with most of them eyeing our situation with interest, I decide not to enlighten Potter.

“It is,” I merely say, feeling rather captivated by the way his green eyes lighten up at my words.

His eyes trail down my body, stopping at my left forearm. His lifts his free hand and gently brushes the fabric of my robes. “Potter,” I say with exasperation, knowing already what goes on in his mind as deep lines appear on his forehead.

“It’s Harry,” He says quietly, his eyes moving back up to meet mine, his fingers lightly closing over my wrist.

Amusement and excitement mix up in my stomach as I give him a small nod. “I know. Harry.”

Potter’s mouth quirks up but then he becomes sombre. “When we go there…to destroy that – that thing…would you try not to risk your life in there?”

My brows lift with a mild disbelief. “Would _you_ make such promise?” I ask simply, and Potter shakes his head stubbornly.

“That’s not the same thing, you’ve got that mark – “

“And you don’t have the skill or the powers I do, and yet there’s no stopping you, is there?” I ask, my voice calm, but my eyes give him a look of warning.

Potter lets out a weary sigh and looks at me sincerely, his thumb brushing the line of my jaw, making the situation a hell of a lot more intimate than it had been. “I just…I don’t want anything to happen to – “

“Don’t worry about it, Harry,” I say softly, interrupting him, not wanting to go there.

Potter drops his hand as I look away and clear my throat to get rid of the tightness in it. “I have to go,” I say as I look back at him.

He gnaws his bottom lip in thought, and then inclines his head slightly. “Yeah. Me too,” he mutters, seeming a bit chagrined.

“Come here,” I mutter, and pull him into a soft embrace, touching my lips against his temple, before whispering to his ear. “Good night, Harry.”

I feel him smiling against my neck as his head drops slightly. “G’night.”

 


	25. So Far

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I know!!!! It's been ages again (1 month it seems, but you know, feels like a year...)! Unfortunately vacation ended with the free time I had, and work took its place. So...bear with me :)

**Chapter 25: So Far**

**Grimmauld Place, April 11 th 1997**

I roll my eyes inwardly at the sight that awaits me in the kitchen on Friday morning. Nymphadora’s there, sitting nonchalantly at my kitchen table, rifling through the morning paper. Not that I wasn’t expecting her to visit on some point after the previous Order meeting, where she had bestowed a mix of dubious looks upon me during the gathering.

Even without her evidently knowing about Potter spending the night at Grimmauld, I assumed she would be returning to seek information about Lupin. The werewolf had been in the meeting, but had left the moment it had ended, presumably to dodge my cousin’s inquiries.

I haven’t actually discussed their relations with either of them, as it is none of my concern, but it is evident that something between them still lies unresolved.

Seeing her now, looking rather…worse for wear, makes me wonder if she has been as miserable and lonely as I have for the most part after my brother was taken from me. It makes me wonder if Lupin too is feeling what she has to be going through. Her hair is nothing like the bright customary shade of bubble-gum-pink she’d had when we met the first time in this decade. And while she had been looking rather drawn in January, she’s now thinner and less colourful than ever.

“Good morning, cousin,” I say with an expressionless voice, before flicking my wand at the kitchen cupboards, summoning a cup of coffee and some toast.

Nymphadora places the paper down and gives me a hesitant look as I sit down opposite to her and watch her stonily. She lets out a defeated sigh and frowns at the table. “I’m an arse,” she says with a quiet voice, and then gives me an apologetic look.

I lift a brow at her and stay silent. I might as well use the rare moment to see her squirming.

A muffled groan escapes from her lips. “I’m sorry. What I said before. About…about Harry. I was out of line,” She continues, looking at me intently while her voice remains careful.

I give her a mildly conceding look.

“And there’s obviously things that I…that I don’t know. Between you two…And…” She says, looking extremely uncomfortable as my expression remains blank.

“ – and I mean, how long are you going to make me grovel here?” She asks impatiently, her eyes narrowing at me as the smallest twitch curves my lips.

I don’t suppress the amusement from my expression. “You _did_ offer me a vantage point here,” I say pointedly, and sip my coffee as a smirk lifts my mouth.

Nymphadora rolls her eyes, but seems relieved. “I’m grateful to provide the entertainment,” She says dryly. “But really, I – “ She continues with a softer voice.

“All is forgiven,” I merely say, interrupting her, and nod at the paper. “Anything new in there?”

She blinks at me and then shakes her head slightly, “No, not really. It’s been so quiet that it makes me restless,” She says, picking, seemingly unconsciously, at the sleeve of her robe.

I nod grimly at her. “I know what you mean.”

There’s a short silence. “Shouldn’t you be at your post, guarding the school?” I ask casually, between bites of toast. Even if it is doubtful that the Dark Lord would attack the school in broad daylight, I know it is understaffed due to the Easter holidays.

Nymphadora waves a hand in dismissal. “A day off,” she says, and then her eyes glint with mischief, “Don’t worry…everyone, including your… _better half_ , is exceptionally intact,” She says airily.

I give her a long, deadpan look. “You had to go there, hm?”

Nymphadora smirks at me. “It was only fair,” She says with a half shrug, her voice light. “I mean, what old Phineas had to say about you two, well…” She continues knowingly, her sly grin widening.

Fuck. I fucking knew I’ve become careless around Potter. Naturally my ancestor hasn’t missed a thing and probably has been waiting to see me after the incident in the Headmaster’s office, undoubtedly consumed with excitement.

My cousin evidently sees my discomfort, as she starts to cackle.

“Remind me to move him to the attic,” I grumble, even as I feel my skin warming up a notch. Fucking Potter, messing with my head like that.

Nymphadora snorts. “You’ll do no such thing,” She says, knowing already that I will not.

Unfortunately, the portrait of my ancestor is too valuable to be moved out of sight, as it is the only connection this house has to the school.

I give her a wry look. “Did you have something else you wanted to talk about, or did you really come by just to bother me?”

The small amount of colour that had returned to her features, fades slowly away. She lets out a weary sigh. “Yeah, well…I think you know,” she says, her voice quiet and softer.

I watch her closely as she looks away, her lips pursing into a rigid line. After a short moment she gives me a strained look. “Have you talked with him? Remus?” She asks stiffly, her eyes moving over my face.

“I might have.” I merely say, and at her frustrated expression, I continue, “He came by a couple of weeks ago.”

“And?” She asks impatiently. “We all know Remus’s the one who heard the rumours about werewolves congregating, even if it came from Mad-Eye,” She says darkly, referring to the meeting, where Moody had revealed some troublesome news regarding the northern pack and their plans.

“Your point?” I ask, feeling slightly irritated by the narrow-eyed look, and the suspicion in her eyes. “You expect him to divulge his experiences of his undercover mission in a pack of werewolves over tea and biscuits?”

Nymphadora huffs. “I can hardly imagine you to enjoy tea and biscuits…” she says under her breath.

I give her an amused look. “I have my moments.”

There’s a hint of a smile on her lips, before she becomes sombre. Merlin, she’s got it bad for him.

“He seemed to be unscathed,” I say as I take the paper and flip over the pages. “Evidently not the best months of his life, but then, there are only so many who could do what he does,” I mutter, and glance at my cousin.

She stares back with worry and fear in her eyes.

Nymphadora stays until lunch, and she uses the morning to explain about the dull patrols in the Hogsmeade village, and the occasional run ins she’s had with Harry and his friends. She gets exceptionally annoying as she starts to wonder loudly what will Mrs. Weasley say when she hears that Harry and her youngest child, Ginevra, will not become a thing as Potter is now swept off his feet by a Prince Charming – her words, not mine.

I sigh with relief when I’m finally left alone. The rest of the day passes by in the library, where I go through my notes regarding the Horcrux research and what I’ve added after last week’s meeting with Dumbledore and Potter.

I have a mission to prepare to.

* * *

**Woods outside Hogwarts borders, April 19 th 1997**

_“…The lightning struck tower…Calamity. Disaster. Coming nearer all the time…”_

Yeah, well, Trelawney might have been right about something…

Firstly, Malfoy celebrating – whooping in the Room of Requirement – did not really help me to focus on our mission but then, _then_ , Trelawney had babbled about her interview with Dumbledore, when she’d applied for the job many years ago, and it turns out that the Death Eater that had interrupted them, that had leaked the information about the prophecy to Voldemort – it had been Snape! _Snape_ all along!

“Care to enlighten me about the twist in your trousers?” Regulus asks with a tight but quiet voice as we stand in a small clearing near the edge of the forest, outside school borders.

I knew one of them would soon question my mood, as I haven’t really spoken after we met at the Headmaster’s office, before Dumbledore apparated us here, near the edge of the Forbidden forest – the other edge, that is. It seems that the Headmaster is able to apparate through the school wards as he pleases – something I’ll definitely tell Hermione later on.

Dumbledore trails some feet ahead, waving his wand to create protective enchantments around the area we chose to do the deed in.

To destroy the locket.

Anger flares in my chest again, and I know, _I know_ I need to focus. With effort, I manage to swallow some of the rage down and look blankly at the black-haired man next to me. I wonder if he knows the true depth of his friend’s betrayal.

“It’s nothing.” I grunt back and move my gaze back to Dumbledore, who seems to be wrapping up with his spellwork.

I feel Regulus’s eyes on me, the scrutinising stare, but he stays silent.

But Dumbledore doesn’t. “Harry?” The Headmaster asks, walking back to us, his eyes watching me with a mix of worry and curiosity. “Has something happened?” He asks quietly, stopping in front of me.

I grit my teeth together but can’t suppress the burst of anger, “Snape happened!” I hiss and glare at them both. “He’s the one who told Voldemort about the prophecy. He was the one who made him mark me as a target!”

Regulus’s expression doesn’t change while Dumbledore frowns slightly. “When did you learn this?” The Headmaster asks calmly, his eyes flickering to Regulus before returning back to me.

I let out a frustrated sound. “Trelawney told me. And you…you knew all this time – but said nothing to me!”

The rage bubbles inside me again, and this time I’m unable to control it.

“WHY WOULD YOU LET HIM TEACH AFTER THAT? AFTER HE TOLD VOLDEMORT TO GO AFTER MY MUM AND DAD!?” I yell at Dumbledore, nearly panting as I try to control my anger.

Why, why would Dumbledore trust him? Why would he trust Snape after all that?

Dumbledore takes in a deep breath, even though he seems to be quite calm already. “He made a terrible mistake,” He says softly.

I scoff loudly.

“Please listen to what I have to say, Harry,” Dumbledore continues, his expression serious. “Professor Snape was still a Death Eater at the time when he heard about the prophecy. Only after he learned what would his master do, of whom he was about to kill – “

I let out an irritated growl. “Snape never cared about any of us, not my father, not my mother, and certainly not me! You expect me to believe – ”

“Even in darkness, feelings of remorse are hard to dismiss,” Dumbledore says wearily, interrupting me. “And I believe this was in fact the greatest regret of Professor Snape’s life. It was the reason he wanted to return. To turn his back to his master.”

I want to shake him, to make some sense to him. Doesn’t he know how good Snape is to deceive people? I give an incredulous look at Regulus, who still stays as expressionless as ever, although he listens to our words intently.

“You know him. Snape. Would you believe him in this?” I ask sharply, and Regulus gives me a long, calculating look.

“Harry, enough. I trust Severus completely.” Dumbledore says quietly before Regulus can even open his mouth.

I take in a steadying breath, suppressing the scream of anger and frustration that threatens to burst out. “I don’t. I know he’s up to something. That Malfoy’s up to something. And I just ran into Trelawney, who was kicked out from the Room of Requirement by him – by Malfoy! And she told me he was celebrating something!” I say heatedly.

“What do you think they are up to?” Regulus asks calmly, seeming a bit curious.

Dumbledore lifts a hand to interrupt me from answering. “We have discussed this, Harry. There is nothing suspicious happening in the school. I promise you, while we are here, the school remains protected,” he says sternly, his blue eyes flashing momentarily with something. “Now. I would like for us to focus on our mission. We are here to destroy a Horcrux.”

I stay silent for a moment and stare at the ground between our feet. I know it is pointless to argue with him about this. But at the same time, I know there is something going on, that Malfoy and Snape are both up to something. Something bad. And now they both probably know that the Headmaster is away from the school, and who knows how long will it take to destroy one ugly heirloom.

Because of that, I made some precautions. Before we left, when Dumbledore asked me to get my Invisibility cloak from my dorm, I met Ron and Hermione, and hastily explained them everything. I told them to take the Felix, just in case, as I have a strong feeling about Malfoy’s schemes. Hermione of course was sceptical – she thinks he’s just a bully, a narrow-minded kid. But he’s not. I just know it. Malfoy has changed. He’s not the bullying, prejudiced child anymore. He’s a Death Eater. I know he’s capable of more. But I hope it doesn’t come to it.

“Do you remember what we agreed, Harry?” Dumbledore asks after a short moment. “The conditions I had for you attending this mission?”

How could I forget. I’m to do nothing, and merely stand next to the Headmaster as he does all the work. “Yes. I’m to stay behind and observe, and obey your every command, without hesitance,” I grumble and move my eyes to meet his with a defiant look.

Dumbledore gives me an approving nod, and then a small smile. “Brilliant. We can start then.” He says, placing the locket on top of a large tree stump and taking a step back to pick up the sword from the ground. “Your turn, Harry.”

It was agreed that even though they would need me to open the locket, Dumbledore would be one to finish the object, as we learned that there might be some difficulties for Regulus to use the sword against the Horcrux. After disposing the locket, we agreed that Dumbledore would apparate us back to the castle.

In my head, it sounds simple, at least.

I focus on the locket, concentrate on the letter S gleaming on its front. I imagine it as a serpent, ignore the way the object starts to move threateningly, as if something terrible is waiting to get out. As soon as the quiet hiss, a snarl, really, leaves my mouth, I know it is not simple.

The golden locket opens and immediately we are blinded by a dazzling light. And right after, a loud blast follows, taking us all by surprise. My scream is muffled as I’m thrown away several feet from where I was, landing hard on my back. Luckily there’s grass to soften the hit. Still, my head is swinging as I blink and take in my surroundings.

It seems that Regulus had been hit by the blast as well, as he is slowly gathering himself and moving to stand up. But Dumbledore is still there, standing in front of the tree stump, the Gryffindor sword in the other hand, and the other in the air, pushing the…magic…away from us, towards the locket.

“Come on,” Regulus says gruffly and pulls me back up to standing before he takes a hold of his wand and walks quickly towards Dumbledore.

Then a cold voice fills the air, stopping us in our tracks, making the hairs in my neck to stand up.

_“…Albus Dumbledore…”_

_“…We meet again. Come to fight me? Finally stopped hiding behind stronger men…and yet…you are still weaker than a mere part of me…”_

“Don’t listen to it!” I yell, while Dumbledore has stilled, frozen before the tree stump, his hand still outstretched, fighting against the dark magic that is oozing from the locket.

_“I see you now…I know what you have done. I know your regrets…It makes you weak. It makes you…vulnerable…”’_

Dumbledore’s hand starts to tremble, and I wonder if he has the strength to hold the Horcrux back. “Stab it!” I yell, and make a move towards the Headmaster, only to be pushed back by another pulse of dark magic.

This time I keep my balance, but…I can’t move. “Regulus!” I shout, starting to feel alarmed, starting to feel afraid.

Regulus grits his teeth and tries to force himself to move, unsuccessfully.

“Stab it!” I yell again, panic edged into my voice.

But it seems that Dumbledore doesn’t even hear me. That he’s in some sort of trance and using all his willpower as he tries to deflect the dark magic.

Dark smoke starts to seep from the locket, while Voldemort’s high-pitched laugh echoes in the dark clearing. The smoke clears enough that I can see four figures taking forms, floating in the air, over the locket.

Three young men, and a girl.

The Headmaster flinches when the girl starts to speak with a soft voice.

_“I tried to stop you, brother…I tried to help…”_

Dumbledore lets out a small gasp, his grip on the sword slowly faltering, until the Gryffindor heirloom drops to the grass with a soft thump.

I stare at them in shock, until I realise one of the men is Dumbledore. When he was a young man. And the girl…she has to be his sister. I didn’t even know that he had one…

_“…I tried to make it better…Why…? Why did you do it…? Why did you hurt me…?”_

“Don’t listen to it!” Regulus bellows suddenly, still straining to move. “Finish it! Destroy it!”

One of the figures, one of the young men, turns to Dumbledore.

_“…It was you, brother. You are the reason she is dead. You are the one who brought this upon us…You! You gave her away…for greater good…”_

The last words are spoken with such malice, that the Headmaster seems to visibly shrink from the weight of them.

My head reels as I try to understand the situation. What are they speaking about? Are those people Dumbledore’s siblings? And I know, it shouldn’t even matter. Not now. Nothing else matters more than getting rid of that poisonous thing.

“Dumbledore! Do it!” I shout, almost desperately, and then…then many things happen at once.

Regulus growls next to me, his face distorted with pain, and even though I’ve moved my attention momentarily towards him, trying to gauge the situation, to see if he’s okay, from the corner of my eye I see sudden movement.

The figures surge upwards, and a second later, a strong pulse of dark magic explodes, not towards Dumbledore, but towards us. Regulus and me.

And the next moment, Dumbledore has turned towards us, wandlessly summoning the explosion away from us, and for a small moment, a second really, I think we are going to survive, but then, Dumbledore has his back on the locket, and doesn’t have time to deflect the blast that hits his back, sending him flying across the clearing.

I yell in shock, and only as I run towards the Headmaster, I notice that the spell that kept Regulus and I in place, is broken.

“NO! No, no, no…Dumbledore…sir…” I pant as I reach him, collapsing onto my knees beside him, dread and nausea mingling in my stomach.

Dumbledore lies on his side on the soft ground, his eyes closed. He looks uninjured, as if he’s merely sleeping, but I need to know that he’s going to be all right. I need him to be okay.

“Potter, not yet!” Regulus shouts, sounding angry all of a sudden. “We need to destroy it!”

But I don’t care. I need to see that Dumbledore is breathing first. “Sir…” I say shakily, placing my trembling hand against his shoulder.

Dumbledore stirs and a long, relieved breath leaves my lungs.

“He’s okay! He’s – “ I say urgently, and my voice is stuck in my throat as I see Regulus at the tree stump.

No…

The sword in his hand, his expression focused, looking almost enraged as he lifts the sword up, preparing to strike.

“Regulus, no!” I yell in panic, but he doesn’t listen.

He doesn’t stop either. As soon as the blade touches the locket with a clang of metal, a loud, painful scream is ripped from his throat.

I barely catch the high-pitched, drawn-out cry – the Horcrux – as it is mostly covered by Regulus’s agony.

“NO!” I roar, and scramble to my feet, running towards him, gasping in shock, horrified by the way Regulus shudders violently, shrieking in pain for several moments until no more sounds erupt from his mouth, and his body lurches towards the ground where it stays, unmoving.

I curse inwardly as I reach him, the nauseating helplessness filling me again as the people around me keep hurting, keep taking strikes for me. I only give the briefest of looks towards the Horcrux, at the shattered remains of the locket on the tree stump, making sure it is indeed destroyed, before I move my focus back to him.

“Regulus?” I whisper, feeling breathless, my voice thick as my eyes move quickly over his body, searching for wounds. “Please be okay, please be okay,” I mumble, my voice wavering.

Regulus lies on the grass on his back, eyes closed, the sword still held loosely on his right hand, but his left…the fabric of his cloak in his left arm has burnt away almost completely, revealing a large distorted, sizzling burn injury.

The Mark.

It’s bad. The wounds are deep. I struggle to swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in my throat. The skin on his forearm is charred, and there’s a several inches long area of white, waxy looking skin, speckled with red dots. But he’s breathing. It’s a raspy sound, but it is still there.

Thank fucking merlin.

“Shit…Don’t you dare dying on me,” I grit through my teeth and quickly glance back to Dumbledore.

I need him to help Regulus. Luckily the Headmaster is gaining consciousness, and then he’s moving quickly towards us.

“Harry…” He sounds stricken as his eyes find Regulus and he sees the state he is in. “I’m – “

“Help him,” I interrupt the Headmaster, my voice pleading but sharp.

Dumbledore nods, his expression clearing into a blank one. He kneels on Regulus’s other side, on his left side, and waves his wand slowly over the injured arm. He repeats the spell several times.

The moment stretches on, and I’m holding my breath, ignoring the way my pulse is pounding in my ears, and how my head is thrumming steadily. He has to be okay. He – what if the curse, or whatever the hell dark magic the mark has, what if it is something that can’t be healed? What if he won’t wake up?

I swallow hard, not letting myself think about the possibility, not letting myself tear up. Not yet.

My eyes move over Regulus’s face, and I unconsciously lift my hand to slowly push away a stray lock of hair from his forehead. I need him. I need him to be okay.

I watch, feeling utterly helpless again, as Dumbledore uses magic to lift Regulus’s injured arm up a couple of inches from the ground and conjures wordlessly a large moist bandage before wrapping it gently over his wounds.

“W-Will he be okay?” I ask faintly, worry evident in my voice, and only now notice how my hand still hovers over the side of Regulus’s face, cradling his cheek. Even though he’s unconscious, there’re still deep lines of anguish visible in his expression.

Dumbledore gives me a weary glance, not looking at all like the all-powerful and great wizard I’m accustomed to. “The curse was not fatal, but it may be disastrous if not healed. This will help keep him steady. We need to get him to the infirmary,” he says, sounding exhausted.

His words help the dread and nausea inside me dissipate only slightly. But that’s the best he can do, and the sooner we return to the school, the sooner Madam Pomfrey can start making sure that Regulus will heal. That he will be well.

I chew the inside of my cheek as I watch the Headmaster more closely, trying to figure out how much the struggle with the Horcrux affected him. How much it has weakened him.

“Will you be okay, sir? What it said…what he said…” I ask hesitantly, my eyes following Dumbledore’s movements as he slowly pushes up to stand on his feet.

A small smile lifts up the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to worry about me, Harry,” he says, and glances at the sky, his mouth opening as if he’s about to say something else.

But instead, shock fills his expression, his body recoiling.

“Sir…?” I ask, confused by the sudden change in his demeanour, and move to look at the same direction, only to mimic his expression.

Below the starry night, far across the forest, on the other side, a dark mass looms, high in the air.

The Dark Mark.

 


	26. Fade Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys know what to expect...

**Chapter 26: Fade Away**

**Hogwarts, April 20 th 1997**

There is no mistake. The Dark Mark looms above the Hogwarts castle, it is clear even from the distance. The green skull with a serpent tongue. The mark that was left after the Death Eaters – after Voldemort – had killed someone. Coldness has swept through my veins, and I feel numb. And compared to the emotional storm I’ve been in for the last hour, now I feel utterly terrified.

Ron and Hermione are there. Ginny, Neville, Seamus, Dean and Luna. And everyone else.

Is he there? Is Voldemort there?

Panic and despair fill me. My throat feels tight, and I can’t breathe.

“…Harry!” The Headmaster shouts, shaking me by the shoulders. I only now realise he must’ve been trying to get my attention for a moment or so.

His voice hard, but when I finally blink and manage to shake away my stupor, I see it in his eyes. Alarm. Fear. Graveness.

I swallow hard, trying to move past the distress, trying to force my brains to think what to do.

Dumbledore takes a step away from me and casts a spell. A Patronus. He mutters something to the silvery Phoenix that has erupted from his wand, before it soars away, into the night.

“Harry. We need to go back to the school. Now.” Dumbledore says urgently as he turns back to face me, moving briskly towards Regulus. He waves his wand over the black-haired man, and the slackness in Regulus’s body disappears, instantly becoming rigid.

“A simple Freezing charm to help us keep him stable and his body unmoving before we reach the infirmary,” he says to my questioning look. He turns slightly away, towards the tree stump, and retrieves the remains of the Slytherin Locket, pocketing it after a brief glance at it. “I sent a message to Rosmerta, to alert the Ministry,” Dumbledore says hastily. “Take out your Invisibility Cloak and put it over both of you. Then take his hand, Harry.”

There’s no twinkle behind the half-moon spectacles, no reassuring smiles or looks. Just the weary expression, laced with fear and apprehension.

I follow the instructions, even though the cloak doesn’t fully cover both Regulus and I. I take Regulus’s hand and then reach out to Dumbledore, expecting him to Apparate us back.

I know I need to go back. I need to go to my friends, to see that they are okay. I have no idea how long has it been since we left the school, no idea if Ron and Hermione actually took the Felix. What if they didn’t? What if something has happened to them? Or any of my friends? I told them to guard the corridors, to alert the teachers if they saw anything abnormal. I’m the reason they’ve left the protection of their common room tonight.

Dumbledore gives me a serious look. “Do you remember what we agreed, Harry?” He asks and takes my hand, his stare determined.

I give him an unsure nod. Is he expecting me to hide? To run? Then why is he taking us with him?

“When we go back, you will stay hidden until I have made sure there is no danger,” he says, reminding me, his blue eyes watching me with a piercing look. He must’ve seen the conflict in me, as he continues, “You will keep Regulus hidden, as he is unable to protect himself. You will keep him safe, Harry, until he can be moved to the hospital wing.”

Bloody hell. The will to fight, to rush to help my friends, decreases significantly, as I glance at the black-haired man, lying stiffly on the ground. Fear gropes my stomach at the thought of Regulus getting hurt. I know I can’t let that happen. We need to get him to the hospital wing, where he can be properly healed. Dumbledore said it himself – if he doesn’t, it might be disastrous.

I know I need to protect Regulus, now that he’s unable to do it himself. And I know I can’t win any fights – duels – like that.

“Promise me, Harry.” The Headmaster says, his voice hard again, his eyes flashing.

I clench my jaw but give him a stiff nod. “I promise.”

Before either of us can say anything more, I feel the familiar tug behind my navel, and scramble to grab both Dumbledore and Regulus tighter, just in case.

Seconds later, we land inside the Astronomy tower, and as I blink and take in my surroundings, I realise that we’ve Apparated into a hidden tier below the ramparts – a small space I didn’t even know existed in the tower.

Both Dumbledore and I listen carefully, our eyes sweeping over the latticework above us, trying to determine if we are alone. The tower is quiet, and empty. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. Dumbledore waves his hand in the air, undoubtedly performing wandless magic to check if the tower indeed is empty. After turning back towards me and Regulus – who is only partly hidden beneath the cloak, the Headmaster gives me a small nod.

“A-Are we in the right place?” I whisper to him before pulling off the cloak and taking my wand from my pocket.

Dumbledore’s gaze flicks over the tower once again before he speaks to me, “Take the cloak, Harry. Go find Severus. Tell him what happened, and speak to no one else. Then come back here,” he says with a firm voice.

My brows lift in confusion. “What about him? Regulus? We can’t leave him here,” I start to argue, but Dumbledore lifts a hand to interrupt me.

“I can place enchantments over him, to make sure he will remain unseen. But we need to alert the others first. It can be so that no one in the castle even knows that they might be in danger,” He says quietly, moving towards Regulus, his expression unreadable.

I can only stare dazedly at the Headmaster as he waves his wand over Regulus, casting intricate spells. A moment later, Regulus’s body has disappeared from sight.

Then the Headmaster turns towards me. “You can go through the tapestry,” Dumbledore says, his eyes moving towards the slim tapestry, positioned against the wall, close to the narrow stairs that lead to the upper level.

I frown at the picture, a unicorn in captivity, certain that I’ve seen it before, but only somewhere else.

“Go, Harry. Go now!” Dumbledore says with enough urgency to break the numbness that has started to take over yet again.

I try to push away the anxiousness that I’m beginning to feel as all the possibilities of what might happen next – all the threats – start to whirl in my mind. With a deep breath and a curt nod, I throw the cloak over myself after a last glance to the spot where I know Regulus is situated. Clutching my wand tightly, I make my way towards the small tapestry, but before I can even push it away to reveal the passage, faint noise reaches our ears.

My body stiffens as Dumbledore merely cocks his head to listen.

Running footsteps. Drawing closer. The noise becoming louder.

I start to take off the cloak while Dumbledore walks quickly to the stairs that lead to the ramparts. “Keep it on, Harry. Keep yourself hidden. Do not speak or show yourself without my permission. Do you understand?” He says, his expression hard.

I chew the inside of my cheek, feeling conflicted. I know I promised him, I _know._

But then I see his eyes, pleading me, asking me to trust him. I know what I have to do.

With great effort, I lower my wand and give the Headmaster a look of defeat. I pull the cloak back over myself, and Dumbledore walks hastily up the stairs and to the upper level, just before the door there flies open.

I peer through the grid above, and watch as Malfoy comes into my view.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Malfoy yells, and I’m about to shout, to growl at him but I realise I can’t speak. I have no voice.

And then I realise something even worse. Dumbledore has cast a spell to immobilise me. I can’t move.

All I can do is watch how Dumbledore’s wand flies across the tower, straight into Malfoy’s extended palm. What was he even thinking? Using his concentration to make sure that I would stay hidden, that I didn’t take any risks to try to help him. I think about a litany of curses. Making sure I was protected, had costed Dumbledore his wand.

“Good evening, Draco,” Dumbledore says simply, giving no hint whatsoever that the situation – or even seeing Malfoy there – has surprised him.

Malfoy’s gaze moves quickly over the tower. “Are you alone?” He asks quickly.

Dumbledore merely watches Malfoy curiously before he replies. “Are you?”

Malfoy swallows deeply before lifting his chin up a notch. “No. The Death Eaters are here. It was me,” He says, his voice triumphant, even when his eyes are terrified. “I figured out a way to let them in, and right under your nose!”

I can see a hint of disappointment in Dumbledore’s eyes. “And where are they now? I would have thought they were eager to confront me. Instead, they sent…you?” He asks, his voice kind.

Malfoy scoffs. “They are on their way. Some of your guards stumbled into their path, but it won’t be long now...And you have no idea what I’ve done. What I’m capable of,” Malfoy says with a hiss.

Dumbledore gives him an acknowledging nod. “Many things, I’m sure. But I’m also convinced of what you are not,” he says, still keeping his voice kind, understanding. “You are not a killer, Draco.”

Many things whirl in my head, and I shiver inwardly. Malfoy…? Malfoy wants to…to kill Dumbledore? And…what guards? Someone from the DA?

And then, Dumbledore smiles at Malfoy, a pitiful look in his eyes. “In fact, I know a great deal about what you have done, Draco, seen with my own eyes what you are capable of,” he says, and I can see that Malfoy’s expressionless mask starts to slip yet again, taken over by that same weariness and alarm that I’ve seen flickering in his features many times this year.

“You nearly killed Ronald Weasley, and Katie Bell, by the result of your weak attempts to take me down. I have to say, Draco, if you were actually trying, you haven’t put forth enough effort,” Dumbledore says, almost lightly, as if they are not discussing Malfoy’s attempts at murder.

Malfoy’s jaw clenches, and he stares at the Headmaster for a long time before he speaks. “Trust me, I have,” He says darkly.

There’s distant shouting, and a large crash, somewhere close to the Astronomy tower. Both Malfoy and Dumbledore incline their heads towards the sounds.

The Headmaster moves his gaze back to Malfoy and watches him calmly. “How did you do it, if I may ask? I have to say, Draco, I am quite…curious to learn how you were able to introduce your new friends into my school – something I had thought was…impossible.”

Malfoy doesn’t reply to him, and instead seems to be listening intently to the muffled yelling and smashing.

I want to yell at Dumbledore, to shove him. Malfoy’s focus has faltered and he’s not even looking at Dumbledore! He could use wandless magic – hell, he could even take a couple of quick steps and whack Malfoy in the head. But instead he does nothing, and merely stares at the boy in front of him, a pitiful smile on his lips.

Dumbledore takes a small step sideways, and that snaps Malfoy’s attention back to him.

“Don’t move! Or I’ll…I’ll – “ Malfoy grunts, but is interrupted by the Headmaster.

“ – I don’t think you will kill me, Draco. It is not as easy as some might think. In terms of life, it costs dearly. And it is something one simply cannot come back from.” Dumbledore says softly, and doesn’t move again. “But you did succeed bringing people here, who might be able to assist you in your aspiration. So, as we wait for your friends, tell me, Draco, how did you do it?”

Malfoy’s hand, still holding his wand trained at the Headmaster, trembles slightly. His face is white, and he swallows hard before he replies. “The broken Vanishing Cabinet…the one Montague got lost in last year. I mended it.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore says, as if contemplating this method, and deciding that it is acceptable. “Genius indeed. There is a pair?”

Malfoy narrows his eyes at the Headmaster, but still replies, “At Borgin and Burkes. And no one didn’t even realise it, not even when Montague told everyone the story – how he could sometimes hear the sounds coming from the school, and other times from the shop. No one but me understood that the two cabinets make a passage between the shop and the school.”

Dumbledore offers his compliments to Malfoy, while my blood boils with rage. That fucking Death Eater. He’s been planning this all along – planning to let the Death Eaters into the castle, to kill and torture innocent people. Malfoy’s done that. Planned to kill Dumbledore.

And I was right. All along, I knew he was up to something. But I never realised, I never could have imagined it was something so horrifying.

“But even if you have given this cabinet issue a great deal of dedication, I assume there were still times when you hesitated? Times when you…wished not to succeed? …And during those times, you gave it a weak try. By sending me a cursed necklace, by sending me poisoned mead…While all along, I knew it was you. I knew it, because Professor Snape told me.”

Malfoy’s expression hardens. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you should trust him. He’s been _helping_ me! Snape made a promise to my mother. He’s loyal to us. To _him,_ ” he grits through his teeth.

And yet Snape was the person Dumbledore wanted to be notified about the situation in the school. How sure he actually is about Snape? I close my eyes and try to force the enchantment to break. But nothing happens. Even if Snape is a double agent, and loyal to Dumbledore, why didn’t he say anything about the cabinet?

Dumbledore merely smiles at Malfoy. “We may have to agree to disagree in this matter, Draco. But you must have had some help outside Hogwarts as well…? Someone, perhaps, in Hogsmeade…ah. Indeed. Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?”

Malfoy arches a brow at the Headmaster, his posture stiffening. “Figured that part out, did you?”

Dumbledore gives him a small nod and speaks, “Yes, I’m afraid so…And very clever of you, Draco, to think of using her as the means to deliver the necklace – and the poisoned mead. I suppose poor Mr. Filch wouldn’t even think of checking a bottle of Rosmerta’s,” he says, his voice mild and contemplative.

How the hell is he doing it? I would’ve…I would’ve – and why the name of Merlin is he prolonging their conversation? Dumbledore could very well end him. He could throw Malfoy off the tower, if he truly wanted. But he’s not doing anything. He’s not doing anything, even though he knows that there are Death Eaters roaming in the castle, harming innocent students. Even though he knows that Regulus lies here with me, in an urgent need of care. And the Mark in the sky. Someone may have been killed already.

A flicker of worry passes over Malfoy’s expression as a loud explosion erupts from downstairs. I pray to Merlin, Circe and Morgana that my friends are okay. That they are still alive.

As Malfoy reveals the means of communication between him and Rosmerta, I nearly bite my tongue – at least I would if I could move it. Hermione’s galleons – our charmed galleons. The bloody bastard has stolen that and used it to evil. Used it to give commands to a woman he has Imperiused. A wave of revulsion crashes the bottom of my stomach.

“Yeah, and I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger, as well! Overheard her to complain about Filch not recognising potions…” Malfoy continues bitterly, and waves of anger join the nausea in my stomach.

That fucking wanker. I’m going to end him. I’m going to throw him off the tower. How fucking dare he?

Dumbledore chastises Malfoy for his language, and Malfoy merely bursts in a dry laughter.

“You’re going to be dead soon – _I’m_ going to kill you, and still you care whether or not I use an offensive word?” Malfoy asks, watching Dumbledore incredulously.

The Headmaster merely gives Malfoy a piercing look – something that seems to make him shrink in his place a bit. “I do not think that it will be you, Draco. If you had had the will to do it, you would have done it already. I am unarmed. Defenceless. You have the upper hand, Draco. But the question is; will you do it?”

Malfoy seems to be taken aback by Dumbledore’s words, and he flinches as the sounds of yelling and crashing seem to be nearer now. Whoever they are, must be fighting their way up the staircase that leads to the tower. “I have to,” Malfoy gasps, all the remaining colour disappearing from his features. “I have to kill you! Otherwise… _he’ll_ kill me… _He’ll_ kill my family,” He says, looking devastated. Scared.

Dumbledore gives Malfoy a searching look. “I am aware of the complexity of the situation, Draco. In fact, that is the reason I have not approached you on the matter. I knew that if Lord Voldemort searched through your mind, and found out that I had offered you protection, he wouldn’t hesitate to act upon his threats,” the Headmaster says matter-of-factly.

Malfoy shudders at the sound of the name.

“You can still stop, Draco. You have still options. You can choose the right side,” Dumbledore says, imploring him.

Malfoy’s face scrunches up with torment. “There’s no going back,” he whispers, his whole body shivering.

“I can help you. The Order can help your family. You can be kept safe,” Dumbledore says hastily, as the noises from downstairs become even louder. “Do the right thing.”

Malfoy opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, supposedly at a loss of words. It seems that he wants to listen to Dumbledore, that he knows what the right thing is, and even wants to do it. It is clear by the way his hand – the one holding his wand – drops against his side. The look of despair he gives to the Headmaster confirms it.

But then, the door bursts open with a loud bang, and Malfoy’s defences are back up, and the unreadable mask in place, hiding him again. Four people in black robes push behind Malfoy into my view.

The Death Eaters.

Fear grips my spine. They’ve obviously won the fight that was taking place downstairs. Does it mean that they’ve – that they’ve killed someone? My lungs are suddenly empty, and I can’t breathe. What if…what if – shit, I can’t think about that right now. I swallow down the tightness in my throat and force myself to focus at the confrontation between Dumbledore and the Death Eaters.

One of them – a woman – is cackling happily, “What do we have here…? Dumbledore, wandless, cornered! …Well done, Draco! I have to say I had my doubts about your capabilities…”

Dumbledore gives the woman a polite nod. “Good evening, Alecto. And Amycus, too,” he says, glancing at the man next to Alecto.

They are both tow-haired, with round faces and smiles that do not reach their eyes, alike enough in looks that they have to be brother and sister.

Amycus lets out a loud snort. “Still resorting to mockery and wit when things turn bad, huh? Even now, minutes before your death?” He asks, a leering smile on his face.

Dumbledore gives Amucys a sympathetic look, something that seems to anger the Death Eater even before he speaks, “I’m merely upholding good manners. It is never too late to learn, Amucys.”

“You bloody – “

“Do it.” One of the Death Eaters interrupt Amucys’s outburst, and everyone falls silent.

The man is the largest of them all, and even without the raspy, chilling voice, and the positively nauseating reek of dirt, sweat and blood coming from him, he looks terrifying; his hair is matted and grey, his hands filthy with sharp, yellow nails, and his eyes…they are flashing with…hunger and malice.

Dumbledore stiffens only slightly at the voice. “Fenrir.”

The Death Eater in question gives a ferocious smile. “Pleased to see me again, Dumbledore?”

Dumbledore stays expressionless. “Unfortunately, I cannot say that I am, Fenrir.”

A shiver runs down my spine as I recognise the man; Fenrir Greyback – the most savage werewolf alive. His mission in life is to bite and contaminate as many people as possible, to create enough werewolves to overcome the wizards. At least, according to Lupin. Greyback is the one who bit Lupin when he was a kid.

The conversation moves on, and the werewolf in question now grins at Dumbledore, showing his dirty, pointed teeth, specked with blood. “Even if young Draco didn’t wish me to join him here, I wouldn’t have missed this trip…too tempting…so many innocent, delicious throats to be ripped out,” he growls, a ravenous look in his eyes.

My head spins, and I suppress a gag. Malfoy looks like he’s about to pass out, and he is actively avoiding to even glance at Greyback. He’s afraid of him. And who wouldn’t be?

There’s a loud bang downstairs, and I can hear someone shouting loud enough to hear they are saying. It seems that the Death Eaters have blocked the stairs, and escaped their opponents, and not…just maybe not killed anyone. Hope flickers in my chest. I can hear spells firing downstairs, people trying to remove the blockage.

The fourth Death Eater speaks, pulling me out of my dizzying thoughts, “Draco, do it now! We don’t have much time!”

Malfoy swallows deeply, and stares at Dumbledore for a moment, his hand shaking violently as he lifts his wand and points it at the Headmaster.

I want to shout, want nothing more than to break the enchantment Dumbledore’s placed upon me, so that I could curse the fucking wizard – a boy, really.

Dumbledore stands calmly in place as the Death Eaters exchange heated words, and try to reign in Greyback, who thinks that he should be the one to finish Dumbledore, and then, once more, the door bangs open, and finally! There’s help. I would slump in relief if I could move a muscle.

Snape is there, his wand at the ready, his black eyes moving over the area, seemingly trying to gauge the situation. What the hell is he waiting for? He had the element of surprise; he should’ve just started firing curses at the Death Eaters. Instead, he watches Dumbledore quietly, as one of the Death Eaters starts to inform him about the slight snag in their plan.

“Severus…” Dumbledore says suddenly, his voice quiet and soft. The sound of it chills my blood.

Dumbledore is giving Snape a meaningful look, pleading him.

W-What the hell?

Snape walks slowly towards Dumbledore, an unreadable look in his eyes. He walks past Malfoy, while the other Death Eaters back away a bit.

What is he doing? Why isn’t he helping Dumbledore?

The look in Snape’s eyes flickers, and I can see something close to loathing in them.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes shine with recognition. With trust. He gives Snape an imploring gaze as he whispers, “Severus. Please…”

Snape raises his wand and points it. Straight at Dumbledore’s chest.

No…no, no, no…

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_

A soundless cry of terror fills my mind as the curse – the green jet of light – hits Dumbledore and he’s flown backwards across the room, over the railing, and straight into the night, disappearing from sight.

I’m screaming in pain and horror. I’m shouting and sobbing in shock, but no sounds leave my mouth, and my body still stays unmoving as the Death Eaters quickly start to exit the tower.

 


End file.
